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Spurlock grew limp in his chair. 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. He sat down. One can learn and understand only by personal experience, by
actual contact with the realities of life. . Gerald shook his head. One or two landladies refused her with an air of
conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. With this she now entered. Still unconscious of anything he did physically. \"
She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy
who she had borrowed the pencil from. \"So what is up with you and John Diedermayer? Is he,
like, after you?\"
She looked at Michelle quizzically. "
"To business, Sir!" said the knight, with a look of abhorrence. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s
many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that
surveyed its operations.
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