Practice Typing
Jane Eyre: An Autobiography - Brontë, Charlotte · 68 words
This was the climax. A pang of exquisite suffering a throe of true despair rent and heaved my heart. Worn out, indeed, I was; not another step could I stir. I sank on the wet doorstep. I groaned I wrung my hands I wept in utter anguish. Oh, this spectre of death. Oh, this last hour, approaching in such horror. Alas, this isolation this banishment from my kind.
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