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. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. " "If you mean the fugitive, Darrell, he has escaped through the back window," replied Jonathan.
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