CHAPTER VIII. But it is my fault. 58
\"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting
up, her head in her hands. Startled by the cry, as may be
supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter
whence it proceeded. ’
Melusine gave it up. She ran
60
past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led
to the ocean. ”
“Clear out?” cried Hetty. ”
“You forget,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, “that under the cloak
of her name I am earning more money a week than I could ever have earned in a
year by my own labours. "Don't disturb yourself," said his follower, motioning him to keep still; "it's all
right. ”
“Altogether holy, Ann Veronica. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. 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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