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. ’ ‘But she must have known I’d longed to hear of you. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. After a while one began to talk. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect. It doesn't annoy me; it only disturbs me.
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