Villette

In the tidy and historic town of Bretton my godmother resided in a magnificent home. Her husbands family had lived there for many generations and had taken on the name of their hometown—Bretton of Bretton. Whether this was a coincidence or a result of a distant ancestor being a notable enough person to give his name to his neighbourhood I am unsure. I visited Bretton when I was a girl about twice a year and I enjoyed my trip there. The residence and its residents were ideal for me. I enjoyed the spacious serene rooms the thoughtfully placed furnishings the open wide windows and the balcony outside that overlooked a lovely old-fashioned street where Sundays and holidays seemed to always exist because of how calm and spotless the pavement was. One child in a family of adults is typically given great attention but Mrs. Bretton took notice of me in a quiet way. She had been left a widow with one son before I met her; her husband a doctor had passed away when she was still a young and attractive woman.