"Who, then?" demanded Jack. ” “Annabel Pellissier is married,” Courtlaw said quietly. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. 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. “Think of the mockery!” she said. She had become much healthier, and she did not recoil when he kissed her bare neck as it elicited good feelings from all of the regions of her body. "I am here, you see," said the smith.
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