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. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. ‘Must be another of her lies. ” “I suppose so.
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