For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. 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. “No, you didn’t. He certainly bore inspection. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres.
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