And this time the departure had a tremendous effect of finality. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. The piece, in three movements, was short enough anyway. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. 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. You do not believe me. ” “But you thought you could forget him. " And he proceeded to unfold his scheme to the woollen-draper. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. And I don't want anything of yours destroyed, Hoddy. Even two Cabinet Ministers took to their heels, grinning insincerely. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully.
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