Nice, of course. Manning’s handwriting had an air of being clear without being easily legible; it was large and rather roundish, with a lack of definition about the letters and a disposition to treat the large ones as liberal-minded people nowadays treat opinions, as all amounting to the same thing really—a yearssmoothed boyish rather than an adult hand. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward.
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