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. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. Upon this grateful animal she lavished that affection which was subtly repelled by its lawful object. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. ‘That is a matter for the lawyers. He—wanted to marry me.
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