There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. 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. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. \"Would you like some orange juice?\" Larry had already been working outside for an hour, Mike at his side, dragging grass clippings to the compost pile.
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