Now he made an effort to rest his head on my shoulder, but I would not permit it.

Then he would draw me to him: no.
"Jane! Jane!" he said, in such an accent of bitter sadness it thrilled along every nerve I had; "you don't love me, then?
It was only my station, and the rank of my wife, that you valued?
Now that you think me disqualified to become your husband, you recoil from my touch as if I were some toad or ape." These words cut me: yet what could I do or I say?
I ought probably to have done or said nothing; but I was so tortured by a sense of remorse at thus hurting his feelings, I could not control the wish to drop balm where I had wounded.
"I _do_ love you," I said, "more than ever: but I must not show or indulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it." "The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me, and see me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold and distant ?" "No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see there is but one way: but you will be furious if I mention it." "Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping." "Mr.Rochester, I must leave you." "For how long, Jane?
For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair--which is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face--which looks feverish ?" "I must leave Adele and Thornfield.

I must part with you for my whole life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and strange scenes." "Of course: I told you you should.

I pass over the madness about parting from me.

You mean you must become a part of me.