e。
“You know I am a scoundrel； Jane？” ere long he inquired wistfully— wondering； I suppose； at my continued silence and tameness； the result rather of weakness than of will。
“Yes； sir。”
“Then tell me so roundly and sharply—don’t spare me。”
“I cannot： I am tired and sick。 I want some water。” He heaved a sort of shuddering sigh； and taking me in his arms； carried me downstairs。 At first I did not know to what room he had borne me； all was cloudy to my glazed sight： presently I felt the reviving warmth of a fire； for； summer as it was； I had bee icy cold in my chamber。 He put wine to my lips； I tasted it and revived； then I ate something he offered me； and was soon myself。 I was in the library—sitting in his chair—he was quite near。 “If I could go out of life now； without too sharp a pang； it would be well for me；” I thought； “then I should not have to make the effort of cracking my heart…strings in rending them from among Mr。 Rochester’s。 I must leave him； it appears。 I do not want to leave him—I cannot leave him。”
“How are you now； Jane？”
“Much better； sir； I shall be well soon。”
“Taste the wine again； Jane。”
I obeyed him； then he put the glass on the table； stood before me； and looked at me attentively。 Suddenly he turned away； with an inarticulate exclamation； full of passionate emotion of some kind； he walked fast through the room and came back； he stooped towards me as if to kiss me； but I remembered caresses were now forbidden。 I turned my face away and put his aside。
“What！—How is this？” he exclaimed hastily。 “Oh； I know！ you won’t kiss the husband of Bertha Mason？ You consider my arms filled and my embraces appropriated？”
“At any rate； there is neither room nor claim for me； sir。”
“Why； J