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"Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. 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 wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there.
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