Wood turned to look at him. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. ‘It is not possible. ” She paused again. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. 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. . . His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern.
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