She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at Waterloo. \" Lucy replied. “Well, I don’t think you told him as much as that, did you?” Lady Lescelles asked. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. "It is droll," he said. 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. " She laughed; and it was pleasant laughter in his ears.
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