Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. I spent this afternoon in detention. She chose to hold her nose. “She must,” said Mr. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. 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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