I don't know how it is I seem to be always writing about myself. I mean all the time to write about other people, and I try to think about myself as little as possible, and I am sure, when I find myself coming into the story again, I am really vexed and say, "Dear, dear, you tiresome little creature, I wish you wouldn't!" but it is all of no use. I hope any one who may read what I write will understand that if these pages contain a great deal about me, I can only suppose it must be because I have really something to do with them and can't be kept out.
My darling and I read together, and worked, and practised, and found so much employment for our time that the winter days flew by us like bright-winged birds. Generally in the afternoons, and always in the evenings, Richard gave us his company. Although he was one of the most restless creatures in the world, he certainly was very fond of our society.

I don't know how it is I seem to be always writing about myself. I mean all the time to write about other people, and when I find myself coming into the story again, I am really vexed; but it is of no use. I hope anyone who may read this will understand that it is because I have really something to do with the story and can't be kept out.
My darling Ada and I read together, and worked, and practised so busily that the winter days flew by like bright-winged birds. In some afternoons, and always in the evenings, Richard gave us his company. Although he was a restless creature, he was very fond of our society.
