“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. 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 calmed herself, breathing deeply. "You know not what you do. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. You steered and I rowed stroke.
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