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. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. "Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. Old Lancashire families both. She dismissed the idea of doing so. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. Something draws everybody. ” Anna hesitated. You’ve got to take what you can get. “Great.
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