The make-believe gentility of Miss Green’s Paying-Guest-House became intolerable to me. An injury received to my foot out in Canada was causing me great pain. Transportation from Miss Green’s to the Westminster School was difficult and indirect. I made this my excuse to change my living quarters. Miss Green was terribly offended at my leaving her house. She made scenes and shed tears. I took a room in a house in Vincent Square where…
Across from the dim archway of the Architectural Museum was a tiny grocer shop owned and run by Widow Simpson, a woman mild-voiced and spare. The little shop was darkly over-shadowed in the narrow street by the Architectural Museum. Pinched in between the grey of the street and the black of the interior, goods mounted to the top of the shop’s misty window, pyramids of boxes and cans which Mrs. Simpson sold across a…
Mrs. Radcliffe was the aunt of friends of ours at home. They did not give me a letter of introduction but wrote direct to her. They said to me, “Go and see Aunt Marion,” and their faces sparkled at her mention. So, while waiting for school to open, I went. “I’ve heard all about you from my nieces,” she said and accepted me as you accept a letter from the postman. It may contain…