This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. "Because she's a fire-opal, and to the world at large they bring bad luck. 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. " "What? Good Lord, he's alive with fleas! They'll be all over the place.
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