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For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. “Thanks, Cathy. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me. He had become an extremely handsome man, his hair having darkened and his shoulders having realized their full size. "We went through your belongings. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them. 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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