Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. “I hope nothing is wrong. It must be somewhere hereabouts. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief.
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