What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. "I knew his poor mother, and for her sake I'll not see this done," cried John Dump. There was no one to be seen. 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. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges.
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