Ramage controlled his expression and thought very quickly. She had other boyfriends and hung out at Foster’s only bar most of the time. 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. Ramage,” she said, clinging to her one point, “I want to get out of this horrible little room. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave. With a faint view of overtaking them the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace.
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