‘Then he went stark staring crazy, if you ask me. At one time, she determined to go to Wych Street, and ask Mr. “Well?” she said. He had deliberately saved it for last. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots.
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