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just threatened me, and I lived in terrible fear of him. I had no idea how to stop him. The servants did not want to offend their young master, and Mrs Reed could see no fault in her dear boy.

      So I obeyed John’s order and approached his armchair, thinking how very ugly his face was. Perhaps he understood what I was thinking, for he hit me hard on the face.

      ‘That is for your rudeness to Mamma just now,’ he said, ‘and for your wickedness in hiding, and for looking at me like that, you rat!’ I was so used to his bullying that I never thought of hitting him back.

      ‘What were you doing behind that curtain?’ he asked.

      ‘I was reading,’ I answered.

      ‘Show me the book.’ I gave it to him.

      ‘You have no right to take our books,’ he continued. ‘You have no money and your father left you none. You ought to beg in the streets, not live here in comfort with a gentleman’s family. Anyway, all these books are mine, and so is the whole house, or will be in a few years’ time. I’ll teach you not to borrow my books again.’ He lifted the heavy book and threw it hard at me.

      It hit me and I fell, cutting my head on the door. I was in great pain, and suddenly for the first time in my life, I forgot my fear of John Reed.

      ‘You wicked, cruel boy!’ I cried. ‘You are a bully! You are as bad as a murderer!’

      ‘What! What!’ he cried. ‘Did she say that to me? Did you hear, Eliza and Georgiana? I’ll tell Mamma, but first …’

      He rushed to attack me, but now he was fighting with a desperate girl. I really saw him as a wicked murderer. I felt the blood running down my face, and the pain gave me strength. I fought back as hard as I could. My resistance surprised him, and he shouted for help. His sisters ran for Mrs Reed, who called her maid, Miss Abbott, and Bessie. They pulled us apart and I heard them say, ‘What a wicked girl! She attacked Master John!’

      Mrs Reed said calmly, ‘Take her away to the red room and lock her in there.’ And so I was carried upstairs, arms waving and legs kicking.

      As soon as we arrived in the red room, I became quiet again, and the two servants both started scolding me.

      ‘Really, Miss Eyre,’ said Miss Abbott, ‘how could you hit him? He’s your young master!’

      ‘How can he be my master? I am not a servant!’ I cried.

      ‘No, Miss Eyre, you are less than a servant, because you do not work,’ replied Miss Abbott. They both looked at me as if they strongly disapproved of me.

      ‘You should remember, miss,’ said Bessie, ‘that your aunt pays for your food and clothes, and you should be grateful. You have no other relations or friends.’

      All my short life I had been told this, and I had no answer to it. I stayed silent, listening to these painful reminders.

      ‘And if you are angry and rude, Mrs Reed may send you away,’ added Bessie.

      ‘Anyway,’ said Miss Abbott, ‘God will punish you, Jane Eyre, for your wicked heart. Pray to God, and say you’re sorry.’ They left the room, locking the door carefully behind them.

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