As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. “But that’s not all. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. "Come, off with it, sirrah, or I'll blow out your brains, in the first place, and strip you afterwards. " "And now, father, your blessing—your consent!" cried Thames. "Poor creature!" ejaculated Wood. Lucy sized up the girl. "I carried them off on the fatal night when we got into Wild's house, and you were struck down," replied Blueskin. 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 latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room.
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