You can do it, if you will. 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. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. ” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible.
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