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. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. "To the world's end," answered Jack, darting after him. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. ’ ‘And me,’ came the guttural response, ‘I will certainly murder you the very next time I am compelled to see your face.
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