And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. He was six blocks away from his home, a ten story building apparently made solely of glass. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. His first reaction had been explosive as the hurts of the past rose up to taunt him. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other.
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