” “Never better in my life,” Anna declared briskly. “While we were minding the children they stole our rights and liberties. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. ” “What case?” “A divorce—or something—I don’t know. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead.
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