Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. 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. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir. Earles said, with a resigned sigh, “but I shall rely upon you to stick to me so long as I do the right thing by you.
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