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. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. It was the bitterest moment of her life. ‘I must, for that the pig has already gone to monsieur le baron. G.
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