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. Something has happened to change her marvellously, either that, or she wilfully deceived me and every one else in those days as to her real self. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. He was struck disagreeably by Ramage’s air of gallant consideration and Ann Veronica’s self-possessed answers. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun.
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