He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. 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. ‘Jacques, do not go!’ Jack gazed steadfastly at the floor. She’s taken my sword.
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