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. "To-morrow it will be mine. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. ’ He reddened a little, and shuffled his feet. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. ” Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion. "It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. ” “You did not——” “Wait, Annabel! When I arrived in London I went to live in the cheapest place I could find. I've always been more or less music-mad. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station. ‘And housebreaking,’ added Gerald calmly. “So should you. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place.
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