This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. ” He receded from her. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. E. Kneebone's. 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.
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