The good soldier

This is the most miserable story I have ever heard. For nine years, we spent them in the town of Nauenheim, there was harmony and intimate familiarity between us and the Ashbourne family, or rather, our acquaintance was spontaneous and superficial, but it was as comfortable as the relationship between a comfortable glove and a hand. I, my wife, knew Captain Ashbourne and his wife, as much as we could know anyone else, but, in other words, we never knew anything about them at all. I believe such things are hardly tangible except in the character of the English people. Until this moment, every time my mind struggles to gather the pieces of what I know about this miserable story, I find myself in front of people I do not know. Six months ago, I did not set foot in England, and of course, I did not listen to any English heart, for all I knew was just a thin veneer.