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1913 |
I am sure you do. Now, Jane, |
zxcas22 |
10 |
2019-05-17 17:03 |
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I am sure you do. Now, Jane, trip on before us away to the backstairs; unbolt the side-passage door, and tell the driver of the post-chaise you will see in the yard?or just outside, for I told him not to drive his rattling wheels over the pavement?to be ready; we are coming: and, Jane, if any one is about, come to the foot of the stairs and hem.
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No sight so sad as that of a naughty child, he began, especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?
Oh! I could not forget his look and his paleness when he whispered: Jane, I have got a blow?I have got a blow, Jane. I could not forget how the arm had trembled which he rested on my shoulder: and it was no light matter which could thus bow the resolute spirit and thrill the vigorous frame of Fairfax Rochester.
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That is strong, she said, when she had finished: I relish it. The other girl, who had lifted her head to listen to her sister, repeated, while she gazed at the fire, a line of what had been read. At a later day, I knew the language and the book; therefore, I will here quote the line: though, when I first heard it, it was only like a stroke on sounding brass to me?conveying no meaning:?
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This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay; having reached the middle, I sat down on a stile which led thence into a field. Gathering my mantle about me, and sheltering my hands in my muff, I did not feel the cold, though it froze keenly; as was attested by a sheet of ice covering the causeway, where a little brooklet, now congealed, had overflowed after a rapid thaw some days since. From my seat I could look down on Thornfield: the grey and battlemented hall was the principal object in the vale below me; its woods and dark rookery rose against the west. I lingered till the sun went down amongst the trees, and sank crimson and clear behind them. I then turned eastward.
I cannot tell till I have thought it all over. If, on reflection, I find I have fallen into no great absurdity, I shall try to forgive you; but it was not right.
Ere many days, I said, as I terminated my musings, I will know something of him whose voice seemed last night to summon me. Letters have proved of no avail?personal inquiry shall replace them.
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I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain?for I had no article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity?I was still by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit to be disregardful of appearance or careless of the impression I made: on the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could, and to please as much as my want of beauty would permit. I sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry mouth; I desired to be tall, stately, and finely developed in figure; I felt it a misfortune that I was so little, so pale, and had features so irregular and so marked. And why had I these aspirations and these regrets? It would be difficult to say: I could not then distinctly say it to myself; yet I had a reason, and a logical, natural reason too. However, when I had brushed my hair very smooth, and put on my black frock?which, Quakerlike as it was, at least had the merit of fitting to a nicety?and adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought I should do respectably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and that my new pupil would not at least recoil from me with antipathy. Having opened my chamber window, and seen that I left all things straight and neat on the toilet table, I ventured forth.
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I approached him with the now only half-filled glass; Pilot followed me, still excited.
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O Miss Jane! don¡¯t say so!
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Bessie answered that I was doing very well.
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