"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. ’ ‘That’s odd. His expression altered. Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. ‘She gave me four separate identities for herself, you must know, including Prudence, before I managed to get at her real name. "I'll not believe it. "It's strange the antipathy he bears to Sheppard. 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.
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