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.