Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. The garçon was tipped as he had never been tipped before in his life. Sheppard, with startling eagerness. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. 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.
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