Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. 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. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness.
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