"Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. Abruptly the sterner look vanished and she twinkled. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably.
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