She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. "Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. He was so seldom wrong. “Let me think,” said Ann Veronica. Habits and tastes are no longer the same. Certainly not a gentlewoman.
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