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 looking-glass, every stage of my own growth and change there, when, one November morning, I received this letter.