My least favorite Dorothy Whipple book yet, a brief stab at her childhood autobiography. I dislike these biographical looks that start at the first memory; I can’t think of a single one I’ve ever enjoyed, first recollections of table-legs and other things that a child notices. She grows a bit, goes to school, has vindictive teachers who humiliate her for not being able to do math or accuse her of lying when she claims to have written a story all by herself. Eventually she flees to a local school at the Convent, a Protestant standing out amidst the boarders who are all Catholic. Her family gets a country home for the summer, and she forces herself to learn to swim. Proving to her cousins that she can now do it, she swims in the pond, and they approve then ignore her, leaving her to almost drown. Pedaling home from this on her bicycle to an important lunch with a visiting dignitary, she proceeds to belch water out of her mouth, nose and ears at the table.