She was never able to trace the changes her attitude had undergone, from the time when she believed herself to be the pampered Queen of Fortune, the crown of a good man’s love (and secretly, but nobly, worshipping some one else), to the time when she realized she was in fact just a mannequin for her lover’s imagination, and that he cared no more for the realities of her being, for the things she felt and desired, for the passions and dreams that might move her, than a child cares for the sawdust in its doll. "An hour hence, I shall return with the priest," replied Jonathan, striding towards the door. “You vixen!” said Mr. “You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin.
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