ect, and annoy me for a year, I could not forego t a glimpse—t of repaying, in part, a migion, and o myself lifelong friends.”

    “You t. Jo kno is to possess, nor consequently to enjoy  form a notion of tance ty t o take in society; of ts it o you: you cannot—”

    “And you,” I interrupted, “cannot at all imagine ternal and sisterly love. I never ers; I must and ant to admit me and own me, are you?”

    “Jane, I ers ers—  stipulating for t rights.”

    “Brot tance of a ters? Yes; slaving amongst strangers! I,  merit! You, penniless! Famous equality and fraternisation! Close union! Intimate attac!”

    “But, Jane, your aspirations after family ties and domestic emplate: you may marry.”

    “Nonsense, again! Marry! I don’t  to marry, and never shall marry.”

    “t is saying too mucions are a proof of tement under which you labour.”

    “It is not saying too muc I feel, and ions to t of marriage. No one ake me for love; and I  be regarded in t of a mere money speculation. And I do not  a stranger—unsympat from me; I  my kindred: ttered tisfied,  t them sincerely.”

    “I ters; and I knoion for t for tion of talents. You too astes and s resemble Diana’s and Mary’s; your presence is alo me; in your conversation I ime found a salutary solace. I feel I can easily and naturally make room in my  for you, as my t sister.”

    “t contents me for to-nigter go; for if you stay longer, you e me afresrustful scruple.”

    “And t must now be s up, I suppose