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I called myself Anna. As he was about to descend his chains slightly rattled. The truth at once flashed across his mind. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. 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. It was a capital diversion; and as usual the Leatherneck bested the Britisher, in seven rounds.
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