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s; and very fine eyes; too—not without a certain change in their depths sometimes; which; if it was not softness; reminded you; at least; of that feeling。
He had been looking two minutes at the fire; and I had been looking the same length of time at him; when; turning suddenly; he caught my gaze fastened on his physiognomy。
“You examine me; Miss Eyre;” said he: “do you think me handsome?”
I should; if I had deliberated; have replied to this question by something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow slipped from my tongue before I was aware—“No; sir。”
“Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you;” said he: “you have the air of a little nonte; quaint; quiet; grave; and simple; as you sit with your hands before you; and your eyes generally bent on the carpet (except; by…the…bye; when they are directed piercingly to my face; as just now; for instance); and akes a remark to which you are obliged to reply; you rap out a round rejoinder; which; if not blunt; is at least brusque。 What do you mean by it?”
“Sir; I was too plain; I beg your pardon。 I ought to have replied that it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little consequence; or something of that sort。”
“You ought to have replied no such thing。 Beauty of little consequence; indeed! And so; under pretence of softening the previous outrage; of stroking and soothing me in