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. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. ” “But why didn’t you prohibit once for all the whole thing? How dared she tell you that?” “Out of defiance. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. "Plague on't!" added he: "I never meant to take your babby from you. I hate children.
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