At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. ” Hill staggered to his feet and drew a folded paper from his pocket. I’d do anything, Vee. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. “Tell him that he is mad. I’ve got to run to get to my Study Hall. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work.
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