You should have more. So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. 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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