Let us have no more of this humbug. 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 been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. He nodded silently, too full for words. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. (“Good job. " "Do you mock me?" cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him. . He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise. ” “Perhaps I don’t.
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