She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. “Hullo!” Courtlaw, haggard, his deep-set eyes more brilliant than ever, took Anna’s hand into his, and breathed a little close drawn sigh of content. Then he sensed the trap. 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. "In favour of my son. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. . But, though I cannot reward you, Heaven will. . I'm glad to recognise you. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. org/fundraising.
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