She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. She put back her hood in a determined way. 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. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing.
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