Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about me. Now that the state of doubt was over, I felt, for many days, like one in a dream. I never thought that I had a curious couple of guardians in my aunt and Mr. Dick. I never thought of anything about myself, distinctly. The two things clearest in my mind were that a remoteness had come upon the old Blunderstone life — which seemed to lie in the haze of an immeasurable distance; and that a curtain had for ever fallen on my life at Murdstone and Grinby’s. No one has ever raise that curtain since. I have lifted it for a moment, even in this narrative, with a reluctant hand, and dropped it gladly. The remembrance of that life is fraught with so much pain to me, with so much suffering and want of hope, that I have never had the courage to examine how long I was doomed to lead it. Whether it lasted for a year, or more, or less, I do not know. I only know that it was, and ceased to be, and that I have written, and there I leave it.
To make a connection here to my own life would be a bit melodramatic, but I would be lying if I told you I didn’t connect to it in some manner. I have by no means suffered the hardship that our main character has, but these words, “I only know that it was, and ceased to be, and that I have written, and there I leave it,” continue to resonate with me.