Sometimes when I remember a relative
that I have been fond of, or a strange incident of
the past, I wander here and there till I have somebody
to talk to. Presently I notice that my listener
is bored; but now that I have written it out, I may
even begin to forget it all. In any case, because
one can always close a book, my friend need not be
bored.
I have changed nothing to my knowledge,
and yet it must be that I have changed many things
without my knowledge, for I am writing after so many
years, and have consulted neither friend nor letter
nor old newspaper and describe what comes oftenest
into my memory.
I say this fearing that some surviving
friend of my youth may remember something in a different
shape and be offended with my book.
Christmas Day, 1914.