Not a ripple nor a rib appeared on her matted and bedraggled head.
Her towels were already saturated with beer, and only seemed to make matters worse.
Her eyes smarted and her nose was scarlet. The strong smell made her feel quite faint.
She began to cry bitterly; her hair was stickier than ever and showed no signs of even waving.
In her ardent pursuit of beauty she had forgotten that explanation would be necessary, and what explanation would be possible in the face of all these stains and this terrific smell? She hung her head out of the window and it dripped into the stone-cutter's yard.
A man passed underneath, sniffed, and looked up; all he saw was a wet mass of something that dripped beer. "Waste o' good liquor," he muttered, and passed on.
Jane-Anne was getting desperate when there came a rattling of the handle of her door, a hasty push against it, then a tremendous knocking and Edmund's voice:
"Are you there, Jane-Anne?"
"Yes," in a muffled sniff.
"What are you doing? Come out."