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. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books.
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