He kissed her again. Still, one never could tell. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. Instantly I knew that I was going to run away that night before he returned from the neighbouring island. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing. She directed the orchestra to tune again. 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.
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