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ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-1-2
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-3-4
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-5-6
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-7
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-1-2
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-3
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-1-2
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-3-4-5
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-6-7
THE CRISIS-1-2-3-4
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-1-2-3
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-4-5-6
EXPOSTULATIONS-1-2-3-4
EXPOSTULATIONS-5-6
IDEALS AND A REALITY-1-2
IDEALS AND A REALITY-3-4
IDEALS AND A REALITY-5-6-7
BIOLOGY-1-2
BIOLOGY-3-4-5-6
BIOLOGY-7-8-9
DISCORDS-1
DISCORDS-2-3-4
DISCORDS-5-6-8-9
THE SUFFRAGETTES-1-2-3
THE SUFFRAGETTES-4-5
THOUGHTS IN PRISON-1-2-3-4-5-6
ANN VERONICA PUTS THINGS IN ORDER-1-2-3-4-5-6-7
THE SAPPHIRE RING-1-2-3-4
THE SAPPHIRE RING-5-6
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-1-2-3
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-4-5-6
THE LAST DAYS AT HOME-1-2-3
IN THE MOUNTAINS-1-2-3-4
IN THE MOUNTAINS-5-6-7-8-9-10-11
IN PERSPECTIVE-1-2-3

I left him to suppose--a registry perhaps...." 

 

Capes let his oar smack on the water. 

 

"Do you mind very much?" 

 

He shook his head. 

 

"But it makes me feel inhuman," he added. 

 

"And me...." 

 

"It's the perpetual trouble," he said, "of parent and child. They 

can't help seeing things in the way they do. Nor can we. WE don't 

think they're right, but they don't think we are. A deadlock. In a very 

definite sense we are in the wrong--hopelessly in the wrong. But--It's 

just this: who was to be hurt?" 

 

"I wish no one had to be hurt," said Ann Veronica. "When one is happy--I 

don't like to think of them. Last time I left home I felt as hard as 

nails. But this is all different. It is different." 

 

"There's a sort of instinct of rebellion," said Capes. "It isn't 

anything to do with our times particularly. People think it is, but they 

are wrong. It's to do with adolescence. Long before religion and Society 

heard of Doubt, girls were all for midnight coaches and Gretna Green. 

It's a sort of home-leaving instinct." 

 

He followed up a line of thought. 

 

"There's another instinct, too," he went on, "in a state of suppression, 

unless I'm very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct.... I 

wonder.... There's no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it's habit 

and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after 

adolescence. There's always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. 

Always! I don't believe there is any strong natural affection at all 

between parents and growing-up children. There wasn't, I know, between 

myself and my father. I didn't allow myself to see things as they were 

in those days; now I do. I bored him. I hated him. I suppose that 

shocks one's ideas.... It's true.... There are sentimental and 

traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and 

son; but that's just exactly what prevents the development of an easy 

friendship. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal--and they're no good. 

No good at all. 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 rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden 

and die away. 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 


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