Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. 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. Anna watched her with curious eyes. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. Lucy felt a finger tap her on the bra strap as she observed Michelle chatting with yet another passing group of people.
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