"A doctor? What he needs is a good jolt of aromatic spirits of ammonia. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. For if the likeness between the sisters was remarkable, the likeness between this girl and the poster which he had come from studying was more remarkable still. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. Go to her and tell her. 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. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. She isn't used to cities. I keep it for my own drinking," he added in a lower tone.
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