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. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance. “The fact of it is, and this absurd project of yours only brings it to a head, you have begun to get hold of some very queer ideas about what a young lady in your position may or may not venture to do. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. ’ A peal of laughter came from the girl. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. "It's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag.
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