Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage. 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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