“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. "Never heard of a sing-song girl; never heard of a geisha! Flower of the Lotus: the sing-song girl called her that. But it's French manners, I suppose. 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. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. You’re splendid stuff, you know, but you’ve got nothing ready to sell.
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