He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. 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. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. " "But that's the point—I don't know. “You needn’t say a word more,” Mr. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. . ” “Possibly—bit by bit.
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