"Sometimes a cup of lies is a cheering thing," replied the trader. 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. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. “My charm of manner, I suppose. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly.
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