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- Шарлотта Бронте
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Jane Eyre
There
was
no
possibility
of
taking
a
walk
that
day
.
We
had
been
wandering
,
indeed
,
in
the
leafless
shrubbery
an
hour
in
the
morning
;
but
since
dinner
(
Mrs.
Reed
,
when
there
was
no
company
,
dined
early
)
the
cold
winter
wind
had
brought
with
it
clouds
so
sombre
,
and
a
rain
so
penetrating
,
that
further
out-door
exercise
was
now
out
of
the
question
.
I
was
glad
of
it
:
I
never
liked
long
walks
,
especially
on
chilly
afternoons
:
dreadful
to
me
was
the
coming
home
in
the
raw
twilight
,
with
nipped
fingers
and
toes
,
and
a
heart
saddened
by
the
chidings
of
Bessie
,
the
nurse
,
and
humbled
by
the
consciousness
of
my
physical
inferiority
to
Eliza
,
John
,
and
Georgiana
Reed
.
The
said
Eliza
,
John
,
and
Georgiana
were
now
clustered
round
their
mama
in
the
drawing-room
:
she
lay
reclined
on
a
sofa
by
the
fireside
,
and
with
her
darlings
about
her
(
for
the
time
neither
quarrelling
nor
crying
)
looked
perfectly
happy
.
Me
,
she
had
dispensed
from
joining
the
group
;
saying
,
"
She
regretted
to
be
under
the
necessity
of
keeping
me
at
a
distance
;
but
that
until
she
heard
from
Bessie
,
and
could
discover
by
her
own
observation
,
that
I
was
endeavouring
in
good
earnest
to
acquire
a
more
sociable
and
childlike
disposition
,
a
more
attractive
and
sprightly
manner
--
something
lighter
,
franker
,
more
natural
,
as
it
were
--
she
really
must
exclude
me
from
privileges
intended
only
for
contented
,
happy
,
little
children
.
"
"
What
does
Bessie
say
I
have
done
?
"
I
asked
.
"
Jane
,
I
do
n't
like
cavillers
or
questioners
;
besides
,
there
is
something
truly
forbidding
in
a
child
taking
up
her
elders
in
that
manner
.
Be
seated
somewhere
;
and
until
you
can
speak
pleasantly
,
remain
silent
.
"
A
breakfast-room
adjoined
the
drawing-room
,
I
slipped
in
there
.
It
contained
a
bookcase
:
I
soon
possessed
myself
of
a
volume
,
taking
care
that
it
should
be
one
stored
with
pictures
.
I
mounted
into
the
window-seat
:
gathering
up
my
feet
,
I
sat
cross-legged
,
like
a
Turk
;
and
,
having
drawn
the
red
moreen
curtain
nearly
close
,
I
was
shrined
in
double
retirement
.
Folds
of
scarlet
drapery
shut
in
my
view
to
the
right
hand
;
to
the
left
were
the
clear
panes
of
glass
,
protecting
,
but
not
separating
me
from
the
drear
November
day
.
At
intervals
,
while
turning
over
the
leaves
of
my
book
,
I
studied
the
aspect
of
that
winter
afternoon
.
Afar
,
it
offered
a
pale
blank
of
mist
and
cloud
;
near
a
scene
of
wet
lawn
and
storm-beat
shrub
,
with
ceaseless
rain
sweeping
away
wildly
before
a
long
and
lamentable
blast
.
I
returned
to
my
book
--
Bewick
's
History
of
British
Birds
:
the
letterpress
thereof
I
cared
little
for
,
generally
speaking
;
and
yet
there
were
certain
introductory
pages
that
,
child
as
I
was
,
I
could
not
pass
quite
as
a
blank
.
They
were
those
which
treat
of
the
haunts
of
sea-fowl
;
of
"
the
solitary
rocks
and
promontories
"
by
them
only
inhabited
;
of
the
coast
of
Norway
,
studded
with
isles
from
its
southern
extremity
,
the
Lindeness
,
or
Naze
,
to
the
North
Cape
--
"
Where
the
Northern
Ocean
,
in
vast
whirls
,