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. “And you?” “Same thing. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. ’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky.
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