I am glad you are no relation of mine. I will never call you aunt as long as I live. I will never come to see… — Charlotte Brontë
I am glad you are no relation of mine. I will never call you aunt as long as I live. I will never come to see you when I am grown up; and if any asks me how I liked you, and how you treated me, I will say the very thought of you makes me sick.
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"I scorn your idea of love," I could not help saying, as I rose up and stood before him, leaning my back against the rock. "I scorn the counterfeit sentiment you offer; yes, St. John, and I scorn you when you offer it."
Reader, I married him.
I have not much pride under such circumstances: I would always rather be happy than dignified.
