" "Sit down, my dear, sit down," interposed Mrs. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. Why wasn't the world full of love, when love made happiness? Why did people hide their natural kindliness as if it were something shameful? Why shouldn't people say what they thought and act as they were inclined? Why all this pother about what one's neighbour thought, when this pother was not energized by any good will? Why was truth avoided as the plague? Why did this young man have one name on the hotel register and another on his lips? Why was she bothering about him at all? Why should there be this inexplicable compassion, when the normal sensation should have been repellance? Sidney Carton. Cathy Beck was terribly upset and was on the verge of exploding. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. I have never spoken of these things to any human being.
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