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 need scarcely ask whether you've executed your appointed task, my dear? You're never behindhand. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. I could not love you else. He became really companionable, discussed the new story he had in mind, and asked some questions about colour. " "I hear nothing, Sir," laughed Austin.
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