He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. “I don’t see at all how you can be managing,” said Miss Stanley, and Ann Veronica hastened to reply, “I do on very little.
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