Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. We leave this room together. 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. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it.
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