"Don't stir," replied Jack. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. 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. But she felt his lax figure become rigid. She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. The door to the apocalypse had opened! "Loves me?. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. ” She turned a firelit face to her husband. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony.
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