Those were dreams. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. 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. “Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything.
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