“Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. " "Very true," chuckled Jackson; "very true. ” “She liked everything. Poe is all right, if you don't mind nightmares. But, after some restoratives had been administered by Mrs. 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. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. “Come on. . "Stir a foot, at your peril. Here are their letters. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. “We have come too close together for me to believe it.
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