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. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. “This is all very well,” she said, “but two out of the three are rank deserters— and if the papers tell the truth the third is as bad. Mr. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. . We have seen great and sober-minded men come to this unholy city, and become degenerates. I don’t love you. “I am not sure,” Anna answered. F. Good riddance.
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