“What, me!” I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness⁠—and especially in his incivility⁠—to credit his sincerity: “me who have not a friend in the world but you⁠—if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have given me?”

“You, Jane, I must have you for my own⁠—entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes, quickly.”

“ Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to read your countenance⁠—turn!”

“There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer.”