1 Mr. Rochester has a wife now living.
2 Mr. Reed is dead, and his wife cast me off.
3 I say again, I will be your curate, if you like, but never your wife.
4 As to the new existence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I am not married.
5 If you were my real sister it would be different: I should take you, and seek no wife.
6 Through my means, He opens to you a noble career; as my wife only can you enter upon it.
7 To tell me that I had already a wife is empty mockery: you know now that I had but a hideous demon.
8 But I really thought he came in here five minutes ago, and said that in a month you would be his wife.
9 Refuse to be my wife, and you limit yourself for ever to a track of selfish ease and barren obscurity.
10 I want a wife: the sole helpmeet I can influence efficiently in life, and retain absolutely till death.
11 With me, then, it seems, you cannot go: but if you are sincere in your offer, I will, while in town, speak to a married missionary, whose wife needs a coadjutor.
12 That woman, who has so abused your long-suffering, so sullied your name, so outraged your honour, so blighted your youth, is not your wife, nor are you her husband.
13 She was three days without speaking; but last Tuesday she seemed rather better: she appeared as if she wanted to say something, and kept making signs to my wife and mumbling.
14 I did consider; and still my sense, such as it was, directed me only to the fact that we did not love each other as man and wife should: and therefore it inferred we ought not to marry.
15 It surprised me when I first discovered that such was his intention: I had thought him a man unlikely to be influenced by motives so commonplace in his choice of a wife; but the longer I considered the position, education, &c.
16 My conjecture had been correct: the strangers had slipped in before us, and they now stood by the vault of the Rochesters, their backs towards us, viewing through the rails the old time-stained marble tomb, where a kneeling angel guarded the remains of Damer de Rochester, slain at Marston Moor in the time of the civil wars, and of Elizabeth, his wife.
17 , John and his wife, Leah the housemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent people; but in no respect remarkable; with Sophie I used to talk French, and sometimes I asked her questions about her native country; but she was not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave such vapid and confused answers as were calculated rather to check than encourage inquiry.
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