’ ‘Quite right, Gerald,’ approved Lucilla. The fascination of the idea of throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the hand clenched tightly. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. “Exceptionally so. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. 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. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. Stanley decided to treat that as irrelevant.
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