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 almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. “Yes, I believe he is. It’s like this: You want freedom. Adieu! my charmer. "You open it, Ruth. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. He shrugged and, to Gerald’s relief, made to leave at last. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Quilt, "did you kill him?" "Not quite," replied Terence, laughing; "but I brought him to his senses. "But I dread the effect your departure may have upon your poor mother. Pray, walk in. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. Thus died Jack Sheppard.
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