Yet you knew that I was not dead. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. 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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