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. "The glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', I've knowed it often do so in the West Injees. At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. ’ Pottiswick sucked at his teeth through the gaps. ’ Her lashes fluttered. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad.
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