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ted。
“Sit up!” said she; “don’t annoy me with holding the clothes fast。 Are you Jane Eyre?”
“I am Jane Eyre。”
“I have had more trouble with that child than any one would believe。 Such a burden to be left on my hands—and so much annoyance as she caused me; daily and hourly; with her inprehensible disposition; and her sudden starts of temper; and her continual; unnatural watchings of one’s movements! I declare she talked to me once like something mad; or like a fiend—no child ever spoke or looked as she did; I was glad to get her away from the house。 What did they do with her at Lowood? The fever broke out there; and many of the pupils died。 She; however; did not die: but I said she did—I wish she had died!”
“A strange wish; Mrs。 Reed; why do you hate her so?”
“I had a dislike to her mother always; for she was my husband’s only sister; and a great favourite with him: he opposed the family’s disowning her when she made her low marriage; and when news came of her death; he wept like a simpleton。 He would send for the baby; though I entreated him rather to put it out to nurse and pay for its maintenance。 I hated it the first time I set my eyes on it—a sickly; whining; pining thing! It would wail in its cradle all night long—not screaming heartily like any other child; but whimpering and moaning。 Reed pitied it; and he used to nurse it and notice it as if it had been his own: more; indeed; than he ever noticed his own at that age。 He would try to
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