Джейн Ейр

Chapter XXV

           "Ithink,scathedasyoulook,andcharredandscorched,theremustbealittlesenseoflifeinyouyet,risingoutofthatadhesionatthefaithful,honestroots: youwillneverhavegreenleavesmorenevermoreseebirdsmakingnestsandsingingidylsinyourboughs;thetimeofpleasureandloveisoverwithyou:butyouarenotdesolate: eachofyouhasacomradetosympathisewithhiminhisdecay." AsIlookedupatthem,themoonappearedmomentarilyinthatpartoftheskywhichfilledtheirfissure;herdiskwasblood-redandhalfovercast;sheseemedtothrowonmeonebewildered,drearyglance,andburiedherselfagaininstantlyinthedeepdriftofcloud. Thewindfell,forasecond,roundThornfield;butfarawayoverwoodandwater,pouredawild,melancholywail:itwassadtolistento,andIranoffagain. 

           HereandthereIstrayedthroughtheorchard,gathereduptheappleswithwhichthegrassroundthetreerootswasthicklystrewn;thenIemployedmyselfindividingtheripefromtheunripe;Icarriedthemintothehouseandputthemawayinthestore-room. ThenIrepairedtothelibrarytoascertainwhetherthefirewaslit,for,thoughsummer,IknewonsuchagloomyeveningMr.Rochesterwouldliketoseeacheerfulhearthwhenhecamein:yes,thefirehadbeenkindledsometime,andburntwell. Iplacedhisarm-chairbythechimney-corner:Iwheeledthetablenearit:Iletdownthecurtain,andhadthecandlesbroughtinreadyforlighting. 

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