I might have known it. 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. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose. “Want to see the upstairs?” “Sure. She admired his backside as he fetched a blue towel from his bathroom.
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