And it always did.

The sudden picking up of a book, the vanishing of an anxious frown, and in an instant their young minds had turned happily back into themselves, into their own engrossing lives, their plans, their intimate dreams and ambitions, all so curiously bound up with memories of small happenings which had struck them as funny that day and at which they would suddenly chuckle aloud.
And this was only one stage in their growth.

What would be the next, he asked, and all the others after that?
What kind of world would they live in?
Please heaven, there would be no wars.

Many old things, no doubt, would be changed, by the work of Deborah and her kind--but not too many, Roger hoped.

And these young people, meanwhile, would be bringing up children in their turn.