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d to see; his presence in a room was more cheering than the brightest fire。 Yet I had not forgotten his faults; indeed; I could not; for he brought them frequently before me。 He was proud; sardonic; harsh to inferiority of every description: in my secret soul I knew that his great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others。 He was moody; too; unaccountably so; I more than once; when sent for to read to him; found him sitting in his library alone; with his head bent on his folded arms; and; when he looked up; a morose; almost a malignant; scowl blackened his features。 But I believed that his moodiness; his harshness; and his former faults of morality (I say former; for now he seemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate。 I believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies; higher principles; and purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed; education instilled; or destiny encouraged。 I thought there were excellent materials in him; though for the present they hung together somewhat spoiled and tangled。 I cannot deny that I grieved for his grief; whatever that was; and would have given much to assuage it。
Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed; I could not sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in the avenue; and told how his destiny had risen up before him; and dared him to be happy at Thornfield。
“Why not?” I asked myself。 “What alienates him from the house? Will he leave it again soon? Mrs。 Fairfax said he seldom stayed here longer than a fortnight at a time; and he has now been resident eight weeks。 If he does go; the change will be doleful。 Suppose he should be absent spring; summer; and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!”
I hardly know wh
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