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. S. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. "Mine died while I was over here. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. “Really, Vee, you seem to have advertised our relations pretty generally!” “They—they knew, of course. If I had been your companion only, and not your master, I might very well have been content to accept you for what you seem. ” Like most men who lie but seldom, he lied well.
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