"Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna’s eyes as much as possible. 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. Ever and again Capes appealed to Ann Veronica. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical.
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