Though I entered upon my duties under protest, I soon became accustomed to their routine, and the rest of my life seemed more like a dream of the future than a realization of the present.

I refused to go home at the end of the month.

I preferred waiting, I said, to the end of the year.
I was not urged to change my mind; neither was I applauded for my resolution.

The day that I could have gone home, I asked father to drive me to Milford, on the opposite side of the river which ran by Barmouth.

I shut my eyes tight, when the horse struck the boards of the long wooden bridge between the towns, and opened them when we stopped at an inn by the water side of Milford.