Youtube Jane Eyre Audiobook Novels & Stories

I knew who it was from the second I saw it, my heart did a traitorous flip as I carried it upstairs, glancing over my shoulder like Mirabel might appear at any moment. I slipped into our room, locked the door, and tore it open on my bed. Inside was a small wooden box. Nestled in velvet lay a rare first-edition copy of Jane Eyre, the cover worn but beautiful, it pages edged in gold. My breath caught. I’d mentioned it once during the holidays, of how it was my ultimate book boyfriend fantasy in physical form. Rhys had remembered. I opened it carefully. Tucked inside the front cover was a handwritten note on heavy cream paper, his strong, decisive script unmistakable.

Inside it is a box, I lift the lid off of the box to reveal a collection of books with titles I instantly recognise. "Jane Austen's books, all first editions" Rhode tells me softly as I pull my hand back away from the covers, just as I was about to touch them. I can't believe it, I can't believe they're just here in front of me, just sitting in my lap. "No way" I gasp quietly and look up at him in disbelief. These must have cost him a fortune, on top of being nearly impossible to track down. Tears are immediately springing to my eyes, a very regular occurrence for me these days.

"His gift?" "Yes. It should have arrived last week. A rare first edition of 'Pride and Prejudice.' He mentioned it was your favorite." Jane's favorite book was "Valley of the Dolls"—she'd never expressed interest in Jane Austen. This was a test. "Oh, that gift." Lyra scrambled for a response. "Yes, it was... wonderful. Please thank him for me." "You can thank him yourself tomorrow," Amelia replied. "Good evening, Mrs. Blackwood."

~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.