\" They talked until midnight most nights. 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. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. “I want to show you something. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. " This frankness rather subdued Spurlock.
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