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. Three cars were lined up in the driveway. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. The father would be all steel. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you.
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