For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid
streets. 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. Her hair touched
water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. He would require things of her, and she would be
passionately concerned to meet his requirements. ”
She was cowed by the three dead faces that seemed to
scream at her to restore order by any means possible,
even if it meant forgetting the children of the whore and
all the events that had led to her unfortunate situation. ” Her words were slurred
with sleep. Non. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those
human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without
arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly
humourless. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat. Courtlaw.
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