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months after he wrote to me, without, however, mentioning Mr.
Rochester’s name or alluding to my marriage. His letter was then
calm, and, though very serious, kind. He has maintained a regular,
though not frequent, correspondence ever since: he hopes I am
happy, and trusts I am not of those who live without God in the
world, and only mind earthly things.

You have not quite forgotten little Adele, have you, reader? I had
not; I soon asked and obtained leave of Mr. Rochester, to go and
see her at the school where he had placed her. Her frantic joy at
beholding me again moved me much. She looked pale and thin:
she said she was not happy. I found the rules of the establishment
were too strict, its course of study too severe for a child of her age: I
took her home with me. I meant to become her governess once
more, but I soon found this impracticable; my time and cares were
now required by another-my husband needed them all. So I
sought out a school conducted on a more indulgent system, and
near enough to permit of my visiting her often, and bringing her
home sometimes. I took care she should never want for anything
that could contribute to her comfort: she soon settled in her new
abode, became very happy there, and made fair progress in her
studies. As she grew up, a sound English education corrected in a
great measure her French defects; and when she left school, I found
in her a pleasing and obliging companion: docile, good-tempered,
and wellprincipled. By her grateful attention to me and mine, she
has long since well repaid any little kindness I ever had it in my
power to offer her.

My tale draws to its close: one word respecting my experience of
married life, and one brief glance at the fortunes of those whose
names have most frequently recurred in this narrative, and I have

I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live
entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself
supremely blest-blest beyond what language can express; because
I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever
nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone
and flesh of his flesh. I know no weariness of my Edward’s society:
he knows none of mine, any more than we each do of the pulsation
of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, we are
ever together. To be together is for us to be at once as free as in
solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long: to
talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking.
All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is
devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character-perfect concord
is the result.
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