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. ’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy. But here’s what is different this time. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. 1 through 1. The future was not so black. A new thought checked her steps and she froze. It had been a very long time. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders.
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