‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. 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. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress.
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