Although there were seven girls at the neighbouring school where I was a day boarder, and although they called me little Esther Summerson, I knew none of them at home. All of them were older than I, to be sure (I was the youngest there by a good deal), but there seemed to be some other separation between us besides that, and besides their being far more clever than I was and knowing much more than I did. One of them in the first week of my going to the school (I remember it very well) invited me home to a little party, to my great joy. But my godmother wrote a stiff letter declining for me, and I never went. I never went out at all.
It was my birthday. There were holidays at school on other birthdays--none on mine. There were rejoicings at home on other birthdays, as I knew from what I heard the girls relate to one another--there were none on mine. My birthday was the most melancholy day at home in the whole year.

Although there were seven girls at the neighbouring school where I was a pupil, and although they called me little Esther Summerson, there seemed to be some other separation between us besides their being older and far more clever than I was. One of them did invite me home to a little party, to my great joy. But my godmother wrote a stiff letter declining, and I never went. I never went out at all.
It was my birthday. There were rejoicings at home on other birthdays, I knew - there were none on mine. My birthday was the most melancholy day at home in the whole year.
