“I’ve gotta go. "He hash a long journey before him—ha! ha!" "Peace!" cried Jonathan. “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral. "But you do agitate me so much. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. 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. Why would militia be infesting the place? And he must by now be aware of my interest.
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