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mnky78 |
13 |
2019-05-10 17:32 |
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I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people; still more so to children: they have not much idea of industrious, working, respectable poverty; they think of the word only as connected with ragged clothes, scanty food, fireless grates, rude manners, and debasing vices: poverty for me was synonymous with degradation.
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I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and motion of the coach: Gathering my faculties, I looked about me. Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly discerned a wall before me and a door open in it; through this door I passed with my new guide: she shut and locked it behind her. There was now visible a house or houses?for the building spread far?with many windows, and lights burning in some; we went up a broad pebbly path, splashing wet, and were admitted at a door; then the servant led me through a passage into a room with a fire, where she left me alone.
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You should hear himself on the subject. He has again and again explained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to mate. He has told me I am formed for labour?not for love: which is true, no doubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed for love, it follows that I am not formed for marriage. Would it not be strange, Die, to be chained for life to a man who regarded one but as a useful tool?
Besides, said Miss Abbot, God will punish her: He might strike her dead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go? Come, Bessie, we will leave her: I wouldn¡¯t have her heart for anything. Say your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don¡¯t repent, something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney and fetch you away.
Go back now into the room; step quietly up to Mason, and whisper in his ear that Mr. Rochester is come and wishes to see him: show him in here and then leave me.
The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator. I said this rather to myself than to the gipsy, whose strange talk, voice, manner, had by this time wrapped me in a kind of dream. One unexpected sentence came from her lips after another, till I got involved in a web of mystification; and wondered what unseen spirit had been sitting for weeks by my heart watching its workings and taking record of every pulse.
What are they, madam? inquired Mr. Rochester aloud.
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What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something? again demanded Bessie.
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What power?
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I said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of free will, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard, however; I avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O¡¯Gall and Bitternutt Lodge struck cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and foam, destined, as it seemed, to rush between me and the master at whose side I now walked, and coldest the remembrance of the wider ocean?wealth, caste, custom intervened between me and what I naturally and inevitably loved.
Everybody, Jane? Why, there are only eighty people who have heard you called so, and the world contains hundreds of millions.
In pondering the great mystery, I thought of Helen Burns, recalled her dying words?her faith?her doctrine of the equality of disembodied souls. I was still listening in thought to her well-remembered tones?still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect, her wasted face and sublime gaze, as she lay on her placid deathbed, and whispered her longing to be restored to her divine Father¡¯s bosom?when a feeble voice murmured from the couch behind: Who is that?
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