She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. 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. ’ A little sigh escaped her. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. but then I made the mistake of testing it indoors. The palanquin is hired and so is the procession. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in. But though the breach was large enough to admit him below, he could not squeeze his bulky person through the aperture into the Red Room. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. ‘Gammon. These things were common knowledge among the bon ton, who were generously welcoming these unfortunate escapees. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. .
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