He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. 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. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. ‘I’ll handle her better alone.
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