” “You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. . 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. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. Anna, you shall not go. There was no rush. You will be my witness, Madame Joan. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading.
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