“It’s very good,” she said. He did not come out of his chloroform coma and sailed weakly to his death. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. 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 a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it.
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