He got up. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. Another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. Miss Mary to the life. He meets Anna, and claims her as his wife. “My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score.
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