She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather. 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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