She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. “No, you weren’t bad in the slightest. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. Ruth did not reply, but stared past the doctor, her eyes misty. 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. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation.
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