And now I've another job for you. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself. She looked away. Few men could have done as much. Both of them. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. 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. ” Lucy said, watching people mechanically pump quarters into the till. He wanted her named Mary. " CHAPTER IV.
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