Джейн Ейр

Chapter XX

           Mr.Rochesterputthenowbloodyspongeintomyhand,andIproceededtouseitashehaddone. Hewatchedmeasecond,thensaying,"Remember!—Noconversation,"helefttheroom. Iexperiencedastrangefeelingasthekeygratedinthelock,andthesoundofhisretreatingstepceasedtobeheard. 

           HerethenIwasinthethirdstorey,fastenedintooneofitsmysticcells;nightaroundme;apaleandbloodyspectacleundermyeyesandhands;amurderesshardlyseparatedfrommebyasingledoor: yes—thatwasappalling—therestIcouldbear;butIshudderedatthethoughtofGracePooleburstingoutuponme. 

           Imustkeeptomypost,however. Imustwatchthisghastlycountenance—theseblue,stilllipsforbiddentounclose—theseeyesnowshut,nowopening,nowwanderingthroughtheroom,nowfixingonme,andeverglazedwiththedulnessofhorror. Imustdipmyhandagainandagaininthebasinofbloodandwater,andwipeawaythetricklinggore. Imustseethelightoftheunsnuffedcandlewaneonmyemployment;theshadowsdarkenonthewrought,antiquetapestryroundme,andgrowblackunderthehangingsofthevastoldbed,andquiverstrangelyoverthedoorsofagreatcabinetopposite—whosefront,dividedintotwelvepanels,bore,ingrimdesign,theheadsofthetwelveapostles,eachenclosedinitsseparatepanelasinaframe;whileabovethematthetoproseaneboncrucifixandadyingChrist. 

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