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. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. Kneebone's visit, Mrs. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. You don't realize what you have done.
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