But I see now. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. 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. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck. That there gatekeeper would’ve called them out again. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. "Thank you; but I've a pocket full of water-chestnuts.
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