some love if I could; and indeed

indeed, I felt almost ashamed to have

done so little and have won so much.

I passed at Greenleaf six happy, quiet years. I never saw in any face

there, thank heaven, on my birthday, that it would have been better if I

had never been born. When the day came round, it brought me so many

tokens of affectionate remembrance that my room was beautiful with

them from New Year’s Day to Christmas.

In those six years I had never been away except on visits at holiday

time in the neighbourhood. After the first six months or so I had taken

Miss Donny’s advice in reference to the propriety of writing to Mr. Kenge

to say that I was happy and grateful, and with her approval I had written

such a letter. I had received a formal answer acknowledging its receipt

and saying, We note the contents thereof, which shall be duly ‟

communicated to our client.” After that I sometimes heard Miss Donny

and her sister mention how regular my accounts were paid, and about

twice a year I ventured to write a similar letter. I always received by

return of post exactly the same answer in the same round hand, with the

signature of Kenge and Carboy in another writing, which I supposed to

be Mr. Kenge’s.

It seems so curious to me to be obliged to write all this about myself!

As if this narrative were the narrative of my life! But my little body will

soon fall into the background now.

Six quiet years (I find I am saying it for the second time) I had passed

at Greenleaf, seeing in those around me, as it might be in a lookingglass, every stage of my own growth and change there, when, one

November morning, I received this letter. I omit the date.

Jarndyce and Jarndyce

Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn

Madam,

Our clt Mr. Jarndyce being abt to rece into his house, under an indeed, I felt almost ashamed to have

done so little and have won so much.

I passed at Greenleaf six happy, quiet years. I never saw in any face

there, thank heaven, on my birthday, that it would have been better if I

had never been born. When the day came round, it brought me so many

tokens of affectionate remembrance that my room was beautiful with

them from New Year’s Day to Christmas.

In those six years I had never been away except on visits at holiday

time in the neighbourhood. After the first six months or so I had taken

Miss Donny’s advice in reference to the propriety of writing to Mr. Kenge

to say that I was happy and grateful, and with her approval I had written

such a letter. I had received a formal answer acknowledging its receipt

and saying, We note the contents thereof, which shall be duly ‟

communicated to our client.” After that I sometimes heard Miss Donny

and her sister mention how regular my accounts were paid, and about

twice a year I ventured to write a similar letter. I always received by

return of post exactly the same answer in the same round hand, with the

signature of Kenge and Carboy in another writing, which I supposed to

be Mr. Kenge’s.

It seems so curious to me to be obliged to write all this about myself!

As if this narrative were the narrative of my life! But my little body will

soon fall into the background now.

Six quiet years (I find I am saying it for the second time) I had passed

at Greenleaf, seeing in those around me, as it might be in a lookingglass, every stage of my own growth and change there, when, one

November morning, I received this letter. I omit the date.

Jarndyce and Jarndyce

Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn

Madam,

Our clt Mr. Jarndyce being abt to rece into his house, under an