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. ’ Tears glistened in her eyes. "You mistake,—you are mine. ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. They ought to put a lamp.
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