Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. ‘And it is me you dare accuse? It is yourself you should arrest. 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. "An hour hence, I shall return with the priest," replied Jonathan, striding towards the door. “It was the night you left Paris.
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