‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. I am dreadfully sad. 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. Do you expect me, I wonder. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. Ruth went on to explain.
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