Brendon dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. 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. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed.
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