When I was little, my dad read us the stories of Sherlock Holmes before you go to bed. At the time when the brother takes the opportunity to close off in his corner on the bed, was the rest of us listen to dad with interest. I remember the leather couch large that was sitting on my dad holding the book out in front of him with one arm while the flames saggy emitted from the material reflected on his glasses with a black frame. I remember also rise and fall in his voice, the greater the thrill of surpassing the point of collapse. And lastly comes logical solution after a long wait, as my head –just as Dr. Watson-and I'm thinking,"" of course, the whole thing, and what he says now is very simple."" I can also remember the smell of boiling that my dad was smoking it every now and then, where was a combination of the type of dirt and the smell of fruit, the smell seeping into the folds of the leather couch. Of course, it was a pipe is always slightly curved perfectly as latching to Holmes. And I remember too the way that it was my dad closes the book after completion of Reading, where he was a page of his thick stick together between the covers of his scarlet when my dad says:"" that's enough for tonight"". Regardless of the size we begged him and which is based on our faces, we were at the end we can get to our beds upstairs. ."
