1. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. 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. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. I have given up painting.
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