" "From whom?" vociferated Trenchard. “I’m not a good woman. ’ He took the thing from Melusine’s listless grasp and went on, ‘Now then, what’s all this here argy-bargy with Pottiswick?’ Melusine opened her eyes and straightened up. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it.
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