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d upstairs。 I met Adèle leaving the schoolroom。
“Where are you going? It is time for lessons。”
“Mr。 Rochester has sent me away to the nursery。”
“Where is he?”
“In there;” pointing to the apartment she had left; and I went in; and there he stood。
“e and bid me good…morning;” said he。 I gladly advanced; and it was not merely a cold word now; or even a shake of the hand that I received; but an embrace and a kiss。 It seemed natural: it seemed genial to be so well loved; so caressed by him。
“Jane; you look blooming; and smiling; and pretty;” said he: “truly pretty this morning。 Is this my pale; little elf? Is this my mustard…seed? This little sunny…faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips; the satin…smooth hazel hair; and the radiant hazel eyes?” (I had green eyes; reader; but you must excuse the mistake: for him they were new…dyed; I suppose。)
“It is Jane Eyre; sir。”
“Soon to be Jane Rochester;” he added: “in four weeks; Ja; not a day more。 Do you hear that?”
I did; and I could not quite prehend it: it made me giddy。 The feeling; the announcement sent through me; was something stronger than was consistent with joy—something that smote and stunned。 It was; I think almost fear。
“You blushed; and now you are white; Jane: what is that for?”
“Because you gave me a new name—Jane Rochester; and it seems so strange。”
“Yes; Mrs。 Rochester;” said he; “young Mrs。 Rochester—Fairfax Rochester’s girl…bri
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