He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. A physiognomist, indeed, would have likened him to that crafty animal, and it must be owned the general formation of his features favoured such a comparison. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. I’ve got to run to get to my Study Hall. Captain Roding strode into the parlour. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. “It was,” she admitted. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint.
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