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. All about her, hither and yon, lay the enticing Unknown. Her pa was only the smithy. . She backed away from him. ” “Not exactly,” he answered nervously. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured.
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