"My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,— and hands, if need be,—but no tongues. Each wing had a small cupola; and, in the centre of the pile rose a larger dome, surmounted by a gilded ball and vane. 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. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. He had not remembered her as looking so small.
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