He envied her a little. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. 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. “I have to go out. Who invented them? Nobody knows. All that she had ever loved were gone, except Sebastian. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge.
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