A man, a father, is writing to a woman about the care of his children.

You can always tell when a man is writing his own name.

But he was reading the full report which many men had written on the ground.

What can a man write about justice if he knows nothing of it?

The man wrote the address on a piece of paper.

"So much of my life was spent with those women who that man wrote about," he said.

Writing another man's hand so the man himself would think he had written it was an art.

The man who wrote the letter could not have written the book.

Oh, why had the wrong man written the right letter?

Could any man have written it who has not lived in the world?