Even our coarseness. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. 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. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. Perhaps you will explain the state of panic into which I seem to have thrown you. He was tender with her as he had not been in years.
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