Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. It struck his forehead, splitting it, and brought him to his knees. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. Wood. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica.
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