‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. I'll not forget your two mistresses, Jack. That is what I must do. Either we go forth together, or they shall bury me. 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 snoring stupidly.
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