What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. She floundered deep. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. Lucy tried not to make her cringe noticeable. This was his humiliation as well as hers.
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