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. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. “Nothing can cheer me,” he said, “except champagne. He stopped abruptly before the apparently incurious Chinaman. \"No, but thank you. I’m talking to you now as though you had all the wisdom and charity in the world.
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