Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand.
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