F. I cannot let you go. 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. "You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. "I have sworn to see him hanged," he said, "and nothing shall keep me away— nothing, by——.
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