He must be gone to dispose of the body. Every one else does. 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. It was on the eve of that memorable rebellion which broke forth, two months later, in Scotland. "That's for Winifred," vociferated the Amazon, bringing the cudgel heavily upon his shoulder. CHAPTER XIII.
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