Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

That eye of hers, that voice stirred every antipathy I had. Shaking from head to foot, thrilled with ungovernable excitement, I continued:

�I am glad you are no relation of mine. I will never call you aunt again as long as I live. I will never come to see you when I am grown up; and if any one asks me how I liked you, and how you treated me, I will say the very thought of you makes me sick, and that you treated me with miserable cruelty.’

�How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?’

�How dare I, Mrs.

Reed? How dare I? Because it is the truth. You think I have no feelings, and that I can do without one bit of love or kindness; but I cannot live so: and you have no pity. I shall remember how you thrust me back – roughly and violently thrust me back – into the red-room, and locked me up there, to my dying day, though I was in agony, though I cried out, while suffocating with distress, “Have mercy! Have mercy, Aunt Reed!” And that punishment you made me suffer because your wicked boy struck me – knocked me down for nothing. I will tell anybody who asks me questions this exact tale. People think you a good woman, but you are bad, hard-hearted. You are deceitful!’

Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to exult, with the strangest sense of freedom, of triumph, I ever felt. It seemed as if an invisible bond had burst, and that I had struggled out into unhoped-for liberty. Not without cause was this sentiment: Mrs. Reed looked frightened; her work had slipped from her knee; she was lifting up her hands, rocking herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if she would cry.

�Jane, you are under a mistake: what is the matter with you? Why do you tremble so violently? Would you like to drink some water?’

�No, Mrs. Reed.’

�Is there anything else you wish for, Jane? I assure you, I desire to be your friend.’

�Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad character, a deceitful disposition; and I’ll let everybody at Lowood know what you are, and what you have done.

’

�Jane, you don’t understand these things: children must be corrected for their faults.’

�Deceit is not my fault!’ I cried out in a savage, high voice.

�But you are passionate, Jane, that you must allow: and now return to the nursery – there’s a dear – and lie down a little.’

�I am not your dear; I cannot lie down. Send me to school soon, Mrs. Reed, for I hate to live here.