Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agised as in that hour left my lips: for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.
Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life.
I mean that I value vision, and dread being struck stone blind.
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