Her stifled misery had betrayed her. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. 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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