He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. He jumped out of his own side once again and ran around the car to open hers in another theatrical display of chivalry. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay. 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. “Please forgive me. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment.
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