“Go on!” she commanded. But she must not laugh. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. Everything was going to hell. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. Wary they might be.
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