She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. 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 want to boast myself.
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