’ Melusine glared. She advanced, stabbing at him. Selfishness. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. “How will you live?” she appealed. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. ‘And what is it you’re to rescue her from, I should like to know. It had been a trying day. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. 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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