She was pensive and thoughtful. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her. 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. Wood, "it may be poisoned. Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. "We won't have any trouble understanding each other; same language.
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