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. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. “Indeed, no,” he answered. Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. Earles scratched his chin for a moment thoughtfully. “I wonder why I am always hungry nowadays.
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