” “I wonder,” he said, a trifle irrelevantly, “what the future has in store for you. " "That's my own concern," rejoined Sheppard. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. His blood would be sweet with it. 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. Then he went on: “—and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, frankly, unsatisfactory. Stanley, “Mr.
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