Mr. ” “Would you mind telling me,” Anna asked, “how long I knew you in Paris?” He looked at her sideways. The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. You are my prisoner, murderer. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. 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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