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"Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. ” She whispered. She was clear there were no other minds like them in all the world. Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. 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. ” That was the quintessence of her brother Roddy. There'll be busy days and idle.
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