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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. . The infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since brought him up as his own son. But if not himself, there would be another soon enough. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. She hastened past. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle.
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