We dine at seven-thirty. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. She leaned a little towards him. 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.
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