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sort of strong convulsive quiver; near to him as I was; I felt the spasmodic movement of fury or despair run through his frame。 The second stranger; who had hitherto lingered in the background; now drew near; a pale face looked over the solicitor’s shoulder—yes; it was Mason himself。 Mr。 Rochester turned and glared at him。 His eye; as I have often said; was a black eye: it had now a tawny; nay; a bloody light in its gloom; and his face flushed—olive cheek and hueless forehead received a glow as from spreading; ascending heart…fire: and he stirred; lifted his strong arm—he could have struck Mason; dashed him on the church…floor; shocked by ruthless blow the breath from his body—but Mason shrank away; and cried faintly; “Good God!” Contempt fell cool on Mr。 Rochester—his passion died as if a blight had shrivelled it up: he only asked—“What have you to say?”
An inaudible reply escaped Mason’s white lips。
“The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly。 I again demand; what have you to say?”
“Sir—sir;” interrupted the clergyman; “do not forget you are in a sacred place。” Then addressing Mason; he inquired gently; “Are you aware; sir; whether or not this gentleman’s wife is still living?”
“Courage;” urged the lawyer;—“speak out。”
“She is now living at Thornfield Hall;” said Mason; in more articulate tones: “I saw her there last April。 I am her brother。”
“At Thornfield Hall!” ejaculated the clergyman。 “Impossible! I am an old resident
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