" "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. "Taber," said the manager; "Taber is the name. "What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. I was extremely subtle—in fact, as devious as Melusine. 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. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply.
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