She calmed herself, breathing deeply. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. " "Let me see. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. Hold your hand for a moment. 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.
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