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. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation. One would think I had agreed to her going. Wood turned to look at him.
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