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. What brings you here?” “I’m here to see my uncle. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. She had felt very uncomfortable around him, grotesque.
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