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And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. 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. ” “Well,” she said, “has there not been some reason for this? The likeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks.
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