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