Wood, softening her asperity. S. ’ It had not before occurred to him, but this realisation fuelled the general’s growing conviction that he was being imposed upon in some way. . You must forgive the poet’s license I take. 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. "Well, I'm not far from the mark.
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