Lucilla broke across Melusine’s thoughts. 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. Suddenly he understood what had happened. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. F. Least of all myself. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood.
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