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. “Do you know him?” Lucy replied, “No, I haven’t met him. "Now, Jack," cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard's hand, "you are my friend again. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. But days had now passed. "I believe he is conscious," she answered. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon. When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to her startled gaze.
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