It's a pity you wouldn't give me the prescription instead of the medicine, so I could have it filled nearer home. ” He said flatly. 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. My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity.
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