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. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. ” “Perhaps you remember me, Miss Pellissier,” the second young man interposed. Passing thought. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls.
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