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caprice (a freak very possible to a nature so sudden and headstrong as his) has delivered him into her power; and she now exercises over his actions a secret influence; the result of his own indiscretion; which he cannot shake off; and dare not disregard?” But; having reached this point of conjecture; Mrs。 Poole’s square; flat figure; and unely; dry; even coarse face; recurred so distinctly to my mind’s eye; that I thought; “No; impossible! my supposition cannot be correct。 Yet;” suggested the secret voice which talks to us in our own hearts; “you are not beautiful either; and perhaps Mr。 Rochester approves you: at any rate; you have often felt as if he did; and last night—remember his words; remember his look; remember his voice!”
I well remembered all; language; glance; and tone seemed at the moment vividly renewed。 I was now in the schoolroom; Adèle was drawing; I bent over her and directed her pencil。 She looked up with a sort of start。
“Qu’ avez…vous; mademoiselle?” said she。 “Vos doigts tremblent me la feuille; et vos joues sont rouges: mais; rouges me des cerises!”
“I am hot; Adèle; with stooping!” She went on sketching; I went on thinking。
I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been conceiving respecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me。 I pared myself with her; and found we were different。 Bessie Leaven had said I was quite a lady; and she spoke truth—I was a lady。 And now I looked much better than I did when Bessie saw me;
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