Don’t try. She rested her head upon his shoulder. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. “These are the times that would make me glad to live forever, if only they lasted. And an Englishman, which is my right of birth. . One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. 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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