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. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. "In Heaven's name! what's all this?" cried Wood. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. Vorsack sat alone at his computer in his pajamas. They do a good job, huh?” He smiled at her. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway.
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