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It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. 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. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. “I can’t believe it. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply.
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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 04-07-2024 03:44:26
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