Sheila plucked it out of Lucy’s hamper with some of Lucy’s panties and brassieres, figuring that she’d help out because she was doing a load of whites anyway. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. 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. Anthony, when God Himself had found only one man strong enough for that! McClintock shook his head violently, as if to dismiss this dream he was having. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son.
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