During some cleaning I was doing in the attic I came across a small wooden box. It didn't look familiar so I pulled it out. A simple hook held it closed so I opened it. Inside was a sheaf of papers covered in writing. Further investigation revealed them to be the remnants of a memoir someone had intended on writing but never finished. The papers were fairly old, maybe from the sixties, but the tone of the writing made me think that the writer was well educated and somewhat well-to-do. I made some inquiries but nothing turned up any indication as to who the writer was. I can only speculate on the identity being a relative that had stayed at the house for some time but suddenly became too ill to continue the memoir.