“She is an extremely attractive girl,” she said; and added, “to some people. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. The foremost, tall, clean-shaven, perfectly groomed, half extended his hand with a smile of recognition. All the same, I don’t admit it. Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. 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. “Bother it all!” she swore. It’s 180 endearing. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. “Indeed, I must implore you to return. It was bleeding again. “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had priced for its patrons.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 29-05-2024 17:05:44
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