Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. I am bothered. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find. He sent me flowers. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face.
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