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He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. ’ ‘Oh, do they?’ Gerald said, sudden wrath kindling. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. 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. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter.
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