‘Oh, peste. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. It was a different world. ’ Emile reached out both hands and grasped her shoulders. 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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