If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. "But I tell you frankly, and Mr. 8. . 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. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. ‘I told you I would find out all about you, Melusine.
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