He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one
of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. “Dyed!”
“And your figure?”
“One’s corsetière arranges that. 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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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 07-07-2024 18:27:01