” “I wanted to, John. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. 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. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. "But I can guess what it's for. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town.
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