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. And yet for all that—
It got into Ann Veronica’s nights at last and kept her awake, the perplexing
contrast between the advanced thought and the advanced thinker. "Pah! He's a fool. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to
the woman’s cheeks. He
knew it was unnerving, he did it to everyone, even his
own kin. His perseverance was amply rewarded. “My husband knows all. And
nothing to tell her where to begin. As they left Florence, dying men and women still
scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from
the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick
children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses
running, begging to join them in their journey out. "Alone?"
"Not exactly, Sir.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 19-07-2024 14:55:37