He cannot. Anna comes to London. "That's odd. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. 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. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it.
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