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Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. " "What a mistake!" "Yes. 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 stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. Denis, did you say? I hope that no one of our friends has met with an accident. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "What do you expect to gain from this interview, Mr. Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. If Thames is murdered, you are his assassin. Come in! Come in, do.

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