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. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. ” “Of course you can. ” “There’s quite enough still,” said Ann Veronica, smiling, “that one doesn’t understand.
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