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hat of the snow…drift I almost stuck fast in to…night。 Charity carried the friendless thing to the house of its rich maternal relations; it was reared by an aunt…in…law; called (I e to names now) Mrs。 Reed of Gateshead。 You start—did you hear a noise? I daresay it is only a rat scrambling along the rafters of the adjoining schoolroom: it was a barn before I had it repaired and altered; and barns are generally haunted by rats。—To proceed。 Mrs。 Reed kept the orphan ten years: whether it was happy or not with her; I cannot say; never having been told; but at the end of that time she transferred it to a place you know—being no other than Lowood School; where you so long resided yourself。 It seems her career there was very honourable: from a pupil; she became a teacher; like yourself—really it strikes me there are parallel points in her history and yours—she left it to be a governess: there; again; your fates were analogous; she undertook the education of the ward of a certain Mr。 Rochester。”
“Mr。 Rivers!” I interrupted。
“I can guess your feelings;” he said; “but restrain them for a while: I have nearly finished; hear me to the end。 Of Mr。 Rochester’s character I know nothing; but the one fact that he professed to offer honourable marriage to this young girl; and that at the very altar she discovered he had a wife yet alive; though a lunatic。 What his subsequent conduct and proposals were is a matter of pure conjecture; but when an event transpired which rendered inq
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