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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. "But don't ever let me see them again. Very soon she would be able to forget it. " "Very well. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. “The ones Cariolus did for me. Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say that such ignorance was beyond her. He had deliberately saved it for last.
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