She winced when first she heard the preparation-room door open and Capes came down the laboratory; but when at last he reached her she was self-possessed. My wife—killed me. 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. "So much the worse," replied Jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as if uncertain what to do.
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