" At luncheon, preoccupied in thought, Spurlock did not notice the pallor on Ruth's cheeks or the hunted look in her eyes. 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 had now gained the high road. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. “But, forgive me, you are tired. It was a simple wish.
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