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. I married—I married a woman whom I still think one of the most beautiful persons in the world. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. 83 She stared at his crazily erect penis, mentally comparing it to Gianfrancesco’s. ’ And with that he went off to the City, stern and silent, leaving his bacon on his plate—a great slice of bacon hardly touched. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building.
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