The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. “She told you that?” “Yes. ‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. The visitor was the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctor was ready for her. 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. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat.
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