” “And what are you doing here?” the lady asked. She wanted him so badly it hurt. And then you go—and half throttle me. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. I’m not such a bad sort. 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. ” “Men,” said Miss Miniver, “NEVER have a reason.
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