“Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. ’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. ‘Yes, tell us everything at once,’ instructed Lucilla, pushing him towards the sofa she had vacated, and obliging him to sit beside her. He knew she had been weeping. ‘Here we go again.
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