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 resumed his listening. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know. Gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. But what else he saw fit to teach her I do not care to stipulate. She tipped his mouth towards her own and kissed him. \" She said.
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