‘It is in no way your affair, monsieur, and you will unhand me at once. “What do we want? What is the goal?” asked Ann Veronica. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. Wood could stand it no longer. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. 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. CHAPTER III.
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