Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. 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. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Hers is quite the most exclusive set in London. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. Yet I fancy that we who have been poor ourselves must be the best judges of the needs of the people. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. I’ve had enough of it. ‘You will not believe any of my very clever lies. He's the only native I trust in these parts. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. So she built a shrine. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat.
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