Джейн Ейр

Chapter XXVII

           Theairwaslikesulphur-steams—Icouldfindnorefreshmentanywhere. Mosquitoescamebuzzinginandhummedsullenlyroundtheroom;thesea,whichIcouldhearfromthence,rumbleddulllikeanearthquake—blackcloudswerecastingupoverit;themoonwassettinginthewaves,broadandred,likeahotcannon-ball—shethrewherlastbloodyglanceoveraworldquiveringwiththefermentoftempest. Iwasphysicallyinfluencedbytheatmosphereandscene,andmyearswerefilledwiththecursesthemaniacstillshriekedout;whereinshemomentarilymingledmynamewithsuchatoneofdemon-hate,withsuchlanguage!—noprofessedharloteverhadafoulervocabularythanshe: thoughtworoomsoff,Iheardeveryword—thethinpartitionsoftheWestIndiahouseopposingbutslightobstructiontoherwolfishcries. 

           "‘Thislife,’saidIatlast,‘ishell:thisistheair—thosearethesoundsofthebottomlesspit!IhavearighttodelivermyselffromitifIcan. Thesufferingsofthismortalstatewillleavemewiththeheavyfleshthatnowcumbersmysoul. Ofthefanatic’sburningeternityIhavenofear:thereisnotafuturestateworsethanthispresentone—letmebreakaway,andgohometoGod!’ 

           "IsaidthiswhilstIkneltdownat,andunlockedatrunkwhichcontainedabraceofloadedpistols:Imeantoshootmyself. Ionlyentertainedtheintentionforamoment;for,notbeinginsane,thecrisisofexquisiteandunalloyeddespair,whichhadoriginatedthewishanddesignofself-destruction,waspastinasecond. 

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