“I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a capable but not devoted house-mistress. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. 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. “After all, how easy the descent is, even for the greatest of us. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. Naturally it all came out then. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly.
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