“This is the slavery of the veiled life. 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. “Number 13, please, cabman. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch.
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