Pretend to weep both of you as loudly as you can. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. 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. But I want to know what you are doing. Saint Giles's Round-house. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain.
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