” “You see I do. Maybe later. “I want to speak to you. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. 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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