Martha had been more to her than that. But his lips were honourlocked. 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. You, Anna, are one of them. Jonathan, however, was well acquainted with the road. There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate.
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