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. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. Does this not disturb you?” 278 “Of course it disturbs me. But her heart kept on sinking. . No matter. “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door. “But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. Sudden indignation boiled up in him. ‘Come, mademoiselle. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. Stanley as they drew alongside, to account for his own ruffled and heated expression. Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood.
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