I put my foot down like—like adamant. And then she fell into a musing about Capes. The hansom drove off. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. 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. Don’t stand gawping, man.
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