e； appeared almost to paralyse him。 Mr。 Rochester put the now bloody sponge into my hand； and I proceeded to use it as he had done。 He watched me a second； then saying； “Remember！—No conversation；” he left the room。 I experienced a strange feeling as the key grated in the lock； and the sound of his retreating step ceased to be heard。
Here then I was in the third storey； fastened into one of its mystic cells； night around me； a pale and bloody spectacle under my eyes and hands； a murderess hardly separated from me by a single door： yes—that was appalling—the rest I could bear； but I shuddered at the thought of Grace Poole bursting out upon me。
I must keep to my post； however。 I must watch this ghastly countenance—these blue； still lips forbidden to unclose—these eyes now