He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. "By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot. He jumped back, wrenching the sword away. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. Now you can understand why I have been obliged to——” “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Courtlaw interrupted. 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. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. "Take him to the bilbowes.
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