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. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. "I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. Every one of those four stories would be accepted. I promise not to do it again.
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