"All's right!—all's right!" he cried. "It's a mere rehearsal of Much Ado about Nothing. Ladies, keep off, or I shall wax dangerous."

"You don't turn sick at the sight of blood?" "I think I shall not: I have never been tried yet."

And what good can you do her? Nonsense, Jane! I would never think of running a hundred miles to see an old lady who will, perhaps, be dead before you reach her: besides, you say she cast you off.

Yes, sir, but that is long ago; and when her circumstances were very different: I could not be easy to neglect her wishes now.

You—poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are—I entreat to accept me as a husband.

I'll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach liberty to them that are enslaved—your harem inmates amongst the rest.

"Soon to be Jane Rochester," he added: "in four weeks, Janet; not a day more. Do you hear that?"

I suppose your love will effervesce in six months, or less. I have observed in books written by men, that period assigned as the farthest to which a husband's ardour extends.

Don't address me as if I were a beauty; I am your plain, Quakerish governess.

Well, I feigned courtship of Miss Ingram, because I wished to render you as madly in love with me as I was with you; and I knew jealousy would be the best ally I could call in for the furtherance of that end.