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. I don’t see how they can be. “For luck. I have seen you with Anna, and I have not known whether to be glad or sorry. I’m sorry Lucy. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910.
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