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. Nobody will ever know what the fleas thought. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. No, this was imbecile. . "But I like Bobby Burns best. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. Nevertheless, she was no fool, and she knew that they could easily break loose and cause her to fall. ’ ‘Don’t you believe it. Every one turned to her in astonishment. " Jonathan raised his bludgeon, but controlled himself by a powerful effort. No fear o' that.
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