le； showing how I had rejected the real； and rabidly devoured the ideal；—I pronounced judgment to this effect：—
That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of life； that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet lies； and swallowed poison as if it were nectar。
“You；” I said； “a favourite with Mr。 Rochester？ You gifted with the power of pleasing him？ You of importance to him in any way？ Go！ your folly sickens me。 And you have derived pleasure from occasional tokens of preference—equivocal tokens shown by a gentleman of family and a man of the world to a dependent and a novice。 How dared you？ Poor stupid dupe！—Could not even self… i