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 drank it obediently. The other lay unconscious in a heap. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. “I went to Anna’s rooms because I felt that I must see her. To shore up a business that never had any foundation, he wanted me to lend him a hundred thousand; and for his sake as well as for mine I had to refuse. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry.
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