1 He was quite peremptory, both in look and voice.
2 Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.
3 That eye of hers, that voice stirred every antipathy I had.
4 But now, though her voice was still sweet, I found in its melody an indescribable sadness.
5 The tumult of cessation from lessons was already breaking forth, but it sank at her voice.
6 Presently a voice blent with the rich tones of the instrument; it was a lady who sang, and very sweet her notes were.
7 He made some sort of arrangement without speaking, though I heard a low voice address him: he came out and closed the door behind him.
8 I that evening shut my eyes resolutely against the future: I stopped my ears against the voice that kept warning me of near separation and coming grief.
9 The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine; the one who went with me appeared some years younger: the first impressed me by her voice, look, and air.
10 Strong wind, earthquake-shock, and fire may pass by: but I shall follow the guiding of that still small voice which interprets the dictates of conscience.
11 I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye.
12 During the first twelve hours I thought of Mrs. Reed in her last moments; I saw her disfigured and discoloured face, and heard her strangely altered voice.
13 She played: her execution was brilliant; she sang: her voice was fine; she talked French apart to her mamma; and she talked it well, with fluency and with a good accent.
14 I knew gipsies and fortune-tellers did not express themselves as this seeming old woman had expressed herself; besides I had noted her feigned voice, her anxiety to conceal her features.
15 Now, mine continually rove away; when I should be listening to Miss Scatcherd, and collecting all she says with assiduity, often I lose the very sound of her voice; I fall into a sort of dream.
16 I wiped my tears and hushed my sobs, fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken a preternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the gloom some haloed face, bending over me with strange pity.
17 Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman; but, on hearing this strange and audacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stair, swept me like a whirlwind into the nursery, and crushing me down on the edge of my crib, dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that place, or utter one syllable during the remainder of the day.
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