But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. 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 brightened as she took off her hood. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. ” He started back as though he had been shot.
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