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. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. Sheppard, faintly. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. “What’s that for?” He said. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. The idea of your being a failure would never have occurred to me. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. I’m a hard young woman. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. Jolly nice girl, too. Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester.
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