Goopes, she was sure was always high-browed and slow and Socratic. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Wild. F. ‘You don’t know the whole, child. 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. She had told Emile.
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