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. “Let me know the truth. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. It’s just upon my lunch-time. Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. . He was always in a state of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me. The room seemed a vacuum.
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