She wanted to kiss his feet. ” Lucy looked at the small shelf which was jammed with thick paperbacks by every major horror novelist of the twentieth century. “I thought every one had heard,” said Miss Klegg. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. At the gate opening upon the road leading to Dollis Hill were stationed William Morgan and John Dump. They had not to tarry long. 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. No matter.
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