“You love some one else?” he repeated. Shari entered the room in a damp towel, fresh from the shower. 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. Here one might live the life of golden days. We can be friends again. His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise. There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man.
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