She continued to fan herself. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. His aunt, here at McClintock's? It was unbelievable. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. "Evidently he could not destroy these children of his. 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. He moved to one side, bowing and gesturing to the door. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess.
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