She wore the most expensive athletic shoes money could buy in a fashionable black color with neon green laces. Then he turned on his heel and walked off. You know—I worship you. 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. You will do as I say, or—’ ‘Hoy!’ called Trodger from down the hall. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. “A very clear statement, madam,” he said.
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