. ‘It is nothing. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. “You think that this is all. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. Indeed, if he had been ignorant of it, the sound of voices which he could faintly distinguish, would have served as a caution to him. 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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