The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. You'll be answerable for his escape. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. 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.
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