Perhaps because I don’t know. 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. Everything was done in a genteel and ordinary way, but on the other hand, there was no lingering. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her.
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