He turned, expecting to see his wife. 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. ‘What do you mean to do with her?’ ‘Just keep her talking, that’s all,’ Gerald said quickly. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. John eased off. She would just walk out of the house and go. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. Waving a white flag, naturally. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited.
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