F. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. 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. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. ” She said. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said.
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