“I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. "Well, my dear, I've a proposal to make in regard to this babby of yours, which may, or may not, be agreeable. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. 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. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders.
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