Black lettering in a typewriter-style font reads wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure, running across the top and side of a foot.

Quote tattoo across the top of a foot

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A photograph of a single line of black text in a typewriter-style serif font, curving across the top and outer side of a bare foot. The letterforms are solid and evenly weighted with clean edges and no visible shading. The ink is black on pale skin, and the line is shot from above and slightly to the side, with the toes at the lower right.

Lettering Other Quote Text Typewriter font Foot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Odile Peverell had been typing the inn's ledger for eleven days when the snow closed the pass, and by the third night the keys had begun to sound like the clock in the hall. Her late husband's machine sat on the reception desk between a tin of mints and a brass bell nobody rang. She fed in a fresh sheet and found the carriage already set at the margin, as though someone had been at it before her.

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On the sheet, typed in neat capitals she did not recognise, was a line her father used to quote over the breakfast eggs: wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. Beneath it someone had struck the keys so hard that the paper had split in a half-moon. Odile looked up at the ceiling, where the guests slept: the commercial traveller, the widow from Keswick, the young curate who paid in silver. The snow pressed against the windows like a flat hand.

She made a list of who could have done it. The curate had asked for paper twice. The traveller knew that only lovers and telegraph clerks used longhand. Taking the lamp down to the cellar, she found a second machine under a dust sheet, its letter e clogged with ink, and tucked inside the carriage a slip of paper that read only: check the ledger, page nine.

Page nine held the accounts for the winter of the fire, and beside three of the figures sat a small pencilled cross. Odile sat with her cold tea and understood that the ledger had been kept honest by someone who wanted it found. In the morning, when the plough came grinding up the valley, she would hand the page to the constable with the same steady hands she had used on the keys. She set the kettle on, and the snow went on keeping its own counsel.