Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A. 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. “Have you not heard?” she said. ” She said fretfully. “NOW!” said Ann Veronica. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. But it would be too risky.
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