Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. 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. The next moment, a struggle was heard, and Blueskin appeared at the door, followed by Mrs. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. CHAPTER XXIX. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. "To be sure I will, my child.
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