Pretty! Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights! “You shall tell me your faults,” said Manning. “See you. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. ’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. 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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