His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. He roused curiosities. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. Sheppard. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. 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 was trembling a little.
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