“My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. “Want to see Mr. Excuse me an instant while I dismiss this person. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. You are not a coward David, and you must not talk like one. 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. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. . ‘That is better, no?’ ‘Dieu.
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