Ann Veronica had one of her flashes of insight. ‘I was not born to this. Ann Veronica said she didn’t care. 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. She felt her skills make a belated return. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. “It means that I have had enough of this slavery,” she declared. ’ Gerald’s jaw tightened.
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