” Lucy said with concern. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. She had been working upon a ribbon of microtome sections of the developing salamander, and he came to see what she had made of them. The manager twisted his moustache. " "I don't wonder at it," rejoined Gay. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. 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. .
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