I CAN hardly believe it is only a year I since I wrote my diary. I think it is things happening that make people old, and not just weeks and months and years rolling by. Last winter Aunt Mildred married a doctor, and went to India with him. In March Aunt Caroline died. She went to a doctor's house in London to be cured of something, and she wasn't cured, and she never came back to us. I learnt to keep house, and put down in a book when I spent money; and I felt a hundred years old when father would come to me and say, "My dear Grisel, I do miss your dear aunt so much; I wonder if you could help me."…
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