Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. ‘Quick, Gérard. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. Mrs. Ice had begun to form in the shallows.
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