It never seems to enter their heads to try and amuse their menkind. But it means no end of a row. ‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. 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. We are nuns.
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