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. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. ‘I have no idea. She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. "My old coco is disintegrating.
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