Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. “I remember when you walked me home. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. .
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