"I don't think he would," acquiesced the carpenter. That’s where you go wrong. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. Mike dismissed her with a wave, and she left the room, knowing she could not say anything to please him she swiftly left the room. ‘I don’t think he deserved that, Melusine. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. 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.
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