Franklin Library Jane Eyre の小説・ストーリー

The dark sky had been broken up into raindrops which scattered with the sound of gurgling and the distinctive smell of rain. This atmosphere is very fitting with her sad mood, in line with the story of the novel she was reading, Jane Eyre. Although in her heart she intended not to read the book, because the book was highly recommended by Diana, the woman who was a thorn in her love story. However, Kat couldn't help herself. She keep read it and couldn't stop. She arrived at the part where the main character in the story failed from an imminent wedding ceremony, which only needed to say the wedding vows and was crushed by an unexpected reality.

"Lily, are you back?" Jane gave her a gentle smile. Lily coldly glanced at Jane and ignored her. Although there is no evidence, she can also vaguely guess that the incident last night has something to do with Jane. She didn't want to stay in the same space with her. She picked up a few books, turned around, and left the dormitory to go to the library. The moment the bedroom door closes, the gentle expression on Jane's face becomes ferocious. She curses Lily with the most vicious words in her heart.

He showed her his make her believe that he wasn't lying. "Maybe it was a network glitch then. Let's continue studying. "Jane said but the attention outside the library was getting louder and a girl entered the library. She whispered some words into her friend's ear, her friend.was surprised and murmured to the rest. Everyone gasped and stood up urgently and left. Jane looked at their backs and wondered what was wrong so she shifted towards the window but then Mira ran in and screamed. "Isabella Ryan is here. " "What?"

POV MARIUS Had she gone mad? Jane had dark almond shaped eyes, curly hair, and a small face. She was tiny in every way, yet her chin was lifted and her body firm. She didn’t seem afraid at all; on the contrary, a spark of challenge shone in her eyes, calling me. How, by the goddess, could she dare challenge me like this? Her finger was thin, small, fragile like breaking a twig: easy, quick, and satisfying, considering she was daring me to do it.

~Richard~ I swallowed and nodded hastily, dismissing the thoughts of how things ended. “Yeah, of course. I felt the emotions from your characters right from the beginning of the book.” I looked at her and saw a knowing smile on her face, like she could see right past the façade I put up. “Okay.” She shrugged, still refusing to look away. I reached into the bag I had brought with me and pulled out a book, a favorite from when I was much younger: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë.

It was Franklin’s cologne, stale coffee, and something cold, like resentment. Every muscle in my body locked. The smile died on my lips. Ice flooded my veins. I jerked forward, spinning around on the window seat, the book tumbling from my hands to the floor with a dull thud. Franklin stood there, backlit by the dim hall light, his face carved in shadow. But I could see his eyes. They were sharp, analyzing, capturing every flicker of my shock. “Franklin.” His name came out as a breath, stripped of all warmth.

The woman who had pressed stars into Jane Eyre margins at fifteen with the fierce certainty of someone who understood what that sentence meant. That woman was still somewhere inside me. I could feel her occasionally, when Carlisle left the house and the quiet gave me room to exist in a frequency that was my own. She would surface briefly, standing in the library looking at the portraits of the composed women, feeling the specific kinship of it, the recognition of her own situation in their faces. And then Carlisle would return and his warmth would fill the available space and she would go back under and I would let her. Because his hands.

And then she came back, and reluctantly had said he can go out in the backyard for a while. So I have been sitting here alone with four books laying next to me, all the books that I have read, and finished in the last week. I had pulled Jane Eyre from another fancy glass case not giving a second thought if he had something to say about it when he found out. The binding is so old, and worn making it more beautiful than any other, cheap, paperback copy you would find in a bookstore. I couldn’t resist feeling all the intricate flowery looking designs, on the brown colored cover of the book, and turning the yellow colored pages getting a whiff of that wonderful old book smell. It’s a first editi

It smelled like vanilla I put it back quickly. No. I wasn't going to get comfortable here. This wasn't my home no matter how nice it looked. I walked back into the bedroom and that's when I saw the bookshelf. A whole wall of books. How did I miss that ? Oh right I was too busy having a mental breakdown. I walked over and looked at the titles. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. Beauty and the Beast. Phantom of the Opera. Rebecca. These all looked familiar. I pulled out Jane Eyre and a piece of paper fell out. Fancy handwriting on expensive paper.

The warm glow is enough for me, as my feet shuffle towards the books. All first collections. My fingers reach for their spines as I go from row to row, my eyes getting even wider as I move. Jane Austen’s first collection. To Kill a Mockingbird. Pride and Prejudice. Crime and Punishment. Ulysses. The Great Gatsby. These had to have cost a fortune. I reach the end of the top row and grab a book. Jane Eyre. A door cracks open in a corner, but it sounds so far away that I don’t move. Until a second later when I hear footsteps right behind me.