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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. ” “I wonder,” he said, a trifle irrelevantly, “what the future has in store for you. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience. White, my landlady, believes his story. I told him that I was not ‘Alcide. I hated the stuff. ‘Neither do I,’ he responded, frowning, ‘but for Gerald’s sake, I’ll do anything I can. You have just passed through rather a severe physical struggle; just as previously to your collapse you had gone through some terrific mental strain. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. "We must keep still. Or else I would have finished him.
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