" Almost the identical words of the boy. Phillips Oppenheim AUTHOR OF “THE SECRET”, “THE TRAITORS”, ETC. Wait a second. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. 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. She gathered up the chain, revealing a locket which had lain hidden in her bosom.
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