Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. Such an obvious ruse, but the boys and girls would defend their pride to the bitter end, the facade of study groups during rutting season.
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