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ed the hush; the gloom; the quaintness of these retreats in the day; but I by no means coveted a night’s repose on one of those wide and heavy beds: shut in; some of them; with doors of oak; shaded; others; with wrought old English hangings crusted with thick work; portraying effigies of strange flowers; and stranger birds; and strangest human beings;— all which would have looked strange; indeed; by the pallid gleam of moonlight。
“Do the servants sleep in these rooms?” I asked。
“No; they occupy a range of smaller apartments to the back; no one ever sleeps here: one would almost say that; if there were a ghost at Thornfield Hall; this would be its haunt。”
“So I think: you have no ghost; then?”
“None that I ever heard of;” returned Mrs。 Fairfax; smiling。
“Nor any traditions of one? no legends or ghost stories?”
“I believe not。 And yet it is said the Rochesters have been rather a violent than a quiet race in their time: perhaps; though; that is the reason they rest tranquilly in their graves now。”
“Yes—‘after life’s fitful fever they sleep well;’” I muttered。 “Where are you going now; Mrs。 Fairfax?” for she was moving away。
“On to the leads; will you e and see the view from thence?” I followed still; up a very narrow staircase to the attics; and thence by a ladder and through a trap…door to the roof of the hall。 I was now on a level with the crow colony; and could see into their nests。 Leaning over the battlements and looking far down; I surveyed the grounds laid out like a map: the bright and velvet lawn closely girdling the grey base of the mansion; the field; wide as a park; dotted with its ancient timber; the wood; dun and sere; divided by a path visibly overgrown; greener with moss than the trees were with fo