She recovered herself, however, with amazing facility. Don't feel fussed upon my account. “I am sorry,” he said slowly. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. 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. She had thought of the lawyer who conducted the Remenham business, but she knew not where to find him.
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