[Comprehensive Classics] Traveled all over Europe to demolish CP

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Chapter31 The world is impermanent, return to the hometown!

Jane rolled her eyelids—as if the eyelids and eyelashes weighed several tons—and rolled her eyes abruptly like a wink...

Before Mr. Rochester had time to react, such as catching her "winks", expressing concern and worry, she was just like when she crossed into the world of "Pride and Prejudice" back then, her brain crashed due to nerve necrosis, and her eyes couldn't see her heart Passed out without bothering.

I must be out of my mind, or the whole world has gone mad.

Jane was gripped tightly by the subconscious mind that was twisted upside down and screaming like a vulture, lurking and evading in a stupor.

The time she left Pemberley Manor was 1813. There is no way she could remember it wrong. It must have been 1813... Impossible, impossible in the blink of an eye, her parents passed away one after another before she came to her senses...

It is impossible for the entire 26 years to disappear in the blink of an eye... It is impossible for time to flow, but she is stagnant...

Maybe she was dreaming after all?Maybe what I saw and laughed in "Pride and Prejudice" was just a big dream?Maybe she walked into the world of "Jane Eyre" unintentionally, just a dream transformation, or fell into a deeper dream within a dream?

Jane really wanted to just sleep to death, and bet on the probability of going back—or, in other words, waking up completely.

However, what if her real life before time travel was also a dream?Could it be that the real life before time travel was just a dream, and she just woke up at this moment?

How can we distinguish between dreams and reality when everything depends on the perception of the brain?

However, Jane is Jane after all. As a bun who has evolved into a brazen-headed and iron-armed woman, she dares to face the bleak life and the blood without her aunt's scarf.

Therefore, when she estimated that she could almost accept this malicious reality, Jane forced herself to wake up from the coma of escapism.

Her mouth was dry and her limbs were weak, as if she had suffered a serious illness or her whole body had been crushed repeatedly and then put together clumsily.

Jane still had her eyes closed.

Even though she was awake, her mind was still messed up like a pot of overcooked porridge. She needed to give herself time to straighten out the tangled neurons.

The thick stack of letters is still treasured by Jane. The familiar handwriting on the letter paper is the only connection with her family in the past three years, and it is also her only comfort.

The last letter was received in September 1816.

After that, she sharpened her knife and turned to Austin, busy rewriting "Pride and Prejudice" so as not to starve into a skin...Jane devoted herself to the novel, completely unaware that she forgot to write a letter to her family, and never received a letter from her family after that up...

1839...

She should have noticed it earlier.

——Last year, when Jane, who had been on the train for more than ten hours, stepped on the ground in Manchester, she smelled something different:

The Greek-style high-waist dress with a tight waistline and breasts disappeared quietly from sight, replaced by a bell-shaped inflated dress with a waistline that dropped to its natural position; the puff sleeves with bare arms disappeared, and the sleeves The extremely exaggerated leg of lamb sleeves at the root became the mainstream; the pastoral and classical atmosphere dissipated, and the plain cotton fabrics seemed to lose their identity. Overlapping, layer upon layer of large tower skirts, using more fabrics, adding more decorations, occupying more space, women have become graceful and delicate gardens, flower baskets and flowers again...

Everything is characteristic of the development of neoclassicism to romanticism.

She should have felt the passage of time from the secular changes and fashion changes...

Thoughts collided in Jane's humming cranial cavity and slightly beating blood vessels, gradually clearing up into a sharp knife, cutting her heart one by one.

"How long are you going to continue pretending to be unconscious, Jane?" The deep male voice was so close that Jane sat up straight...

"boom!"

"what!"

"careful!"

"Oh!"

"what……"

Head bumping, exhaling pain, reminding and landing, all in one go.

"For the sake of sending you back, Janet, I beg you from the bottom of my heart, take pity on my increasingly fragile nerves, and stop torturing this man who didn't sleep a night." Mr. Rochester On his own initiative, Jane, who had rolled off the bed, was carried back to the bed, and the quilt was tucked in again.

Pity my increasingly fragile nerves...

Pity my fragile nerves...

my nerves...

Jane closed her eyes, raised her chin slightly, a line of hot tears flowed slowly down her pale cheeks, rolling down like dewdrops from the blades of grass where she rested, and on the white feather pillow, a small piece of dark water stain Quietly fainted.

"Does it hurt from the fall, Jane?" He held her wet face in his hands, and there was a rapid and suppressed snort in his palm, and the tears were covered with twinkling eyelashes. Butterfly.

"I beg you, sir..." She opened her eyes suddenly, and grabbed the master's dark and strong hand, weak but firmly grasping it, as if his hand was the last straw, "I beg you, give My two-week vacation..." Her eyes filled with tears, like two melting ice crystals.

"Don't cry, Jane, if you cry any more, the heart of a stone-hearted statue will break for you." He held up his cold and trembling little hands—as if holding a fragile, newly hatched chick, "I will send If I go back with you, I will take care of everything, as long as you promise me, don't slip away from me, and don't leave without returning."

"I promise you, sir." She closed her eyes, and turned over slackly—the seemingly thin and slender back was facing the male master who refused to leave—the eyelashes left a large bruise-like spot under the eyelids In the shadow, she let a drop of tear hang precariously, just evaporated and dried on her face.

She walked along the dry and firm brown earth path with a faint blush--you can't go wrong with your eyes closed--the bright green pastures are high and low, and there is a springy melody quivering in the imperceptible midsummer wind.

Looking around, the low fields are full of greenery, and the thick old trees growing in clusters make this picture with a gentle artistic conception stand out.The crooked hedge stretched forward, just like it was four years ago—no, it was exactly the same as 26 years ago—but the horses grazing leisurely around the hedge were gone.

At five o'clock in the afternoon on May [-]st, Jane stood in front of the beautiful house with a small garden, stepped on the wide and flat ground paved with white stones in front of the house, and her feet seemed to be rooted and unable to move.

From the outside, the old house is almost the same as it was 26 years ago. The lifeless stones, glass and paths are still the same, but some things have long been beyond recognition...

"Dad, Mom." This young woman in a long white dress, wearing a black merino wool shawl, and a white rose pinned to her hair bun, murmured dreamily in a deep and weak tone. Soliloquy.

"Come and see our house, girl?"

Jian Rumeng woke up and raised her head. A middle-aged woman in her 40s held the hand of an older man and showed her a friendly smile.

This lady has a long manly face, which makes it difficult to make a good first impression, but her eyes wrapped in wrinkles reveal kindness and enthusiasm.

She remembered that when she left here three years ago, her parents were vaguely the same age as the couple in front of her...

Clenching her teeth against her lips—this action made Jane's pale lips a little bloody—she curtseyed and forced a smile and said, "It's such a beautiful place, you two live in Longbourn. How long has it been?" The muscles on his face were sore.

"It's been three years since we moved to Longbourn. We rented this house from Mr. Collins three years ago." The old gentleman touched his hat in return. The house is rented to me, and his wife's brains can't make up for Mr Collins's whimsical whims."

The British—especially the old British men—have a special way of talking.

Like this old gentleman with gray hair and long sideburns reaching to his chin, like Mr. Bennet, like her father in this world.

"You look very tired, miss." The wife was more enthusiastic than her husband. "If you like, you can come in and have a cup of tea, and sit down and rest for a few hours."

"You are so kind." Jane tried hard to control the tone of her voice, "Can you allow me to visit this lovely house?"

"Of course! Come on, let's go to the living room and have a cup of tea first."

The moment the white-painted door was pushed open, the memory valve also opened——

Hill, Mrs. Bennet's maid, will always stand at the door to greet her.

There is a blazing black fireplace. Mr. Bennet often lights the fire himself, and he likes to read the newspaper by the fireplace.

The living room is covered with a light-coloured carpet with floral sprigs, which is not suitable for summer because it faces west.Off-white chairs and dark red sofas will vibrate because of Mrs. Bennet's high-pitched and shrill voice.The living room is always full of mothers-in-law, cadences and complaints, Lydia and Catherine's bickering, Mary's sermon-like tirade, and Mr. Bennet's grotesque sneer...

As a strange visitor, she sat on the white chair that belonged to Jane every night four years ago, and the laughter and cries in her ears were like a group of erratic ghosts.

After eating snacks and drinking tea, the hostess volunteered to continue the visit with the guests.

The small bedroom with beige wallpaper is always the Garden of Eden where the sisters talk about everything.The dressing table with combs and glass candlesticks, and the three-sided vanity mirror with a chocolate-colored frame have witnessed the chirping youth of young girls, as well as their well-founded or unconstrained dreams.

The library was a haven of peace of mind, and it was here that Mr. Bennet always hid, in his round little reading glasses, accounting for his income and expenses in his ledgers, and protected himself from the follies of fools.The copper candlestick on the desk is integrated with the dark brown tabletop. The white candle is always burning with all its strength. Mr. Bennet always has a silver tray by his hand, on which goblets and decanted wine are displayed.

Opening the double curtains of the library, you can have a panoramic view of the garden and paths. Here she properly solved the plot of the troll's attack...

If the God of Time Traveling gave her another chance, she would never leave without saying goodbye no matter what.

After seeing the house inside and out, Jane stepped into the low carriage, smiled and waved a handkerchief to bid farewell to the well-meaning couple.

Then, Jane turned her head away, and with a swipe, tears finally fell down.

After the death of Mr. Bennet, the property of Longbourne was naturally inherited by his nephew Mr. Collins.

Mrs. Bennet must have moved to London to live with Elizabeth and Mr. Bingley.

26 years...how many children has Liz had?Is he as eccentric as her, or as soft and gentle as Mr. Bingley?Would she worry as much about the children's marriage as Mrs. Bennet did?Has little Mary been unmarried?Did Katie, who successfully transformed into a pioneer and speculator, come back from the United States?

"What's our next itinerary, Miss Bennet?" It was the non-existent groom who drove the car for Jane—it was the one who went to the George Hotel to pick up the new governess at the beginning of the story of "Jane Eyre" Poor guy—his voice was very soft, as if afraid of disturbing the ghost in Jane's ear.

"To London."

Although the groom is responsible for protecting the safety, he has always crawled under the shadow of the queen-this is the shadow and trauma left by the first meeting-even though at this moment, this woman who dared to abuse the horse with such a ruthless and unreasonable attitude , leaning on the carriage wearily and dejectedly.

At ten o'clock in the evening, Jane stood at the door of Mr. Bingley's house on Grosvenor Street in downtown London.

The plants in front of the door are still those two plants, playing the rustling accompaniment for insects and birds in midsummer night.The warm candlelight diffused from the white window lattices, against the Greek-style marble pillars in front of the door, it seemed grayer than in memory, but the brick-red walls looked brighter.

Looking up at the three-storey mansion, she slowly moved forward two steps, and finally made up her mind to step on the steps.

Jane’s hand froze in mid-air for a few seconds, and then rang the doorbell.

A liveried footman in a powdered wig and leggings ushered her into the sitting room and announced to her master.

She sat on the large sky blue sofa chair with gold trim, quietly listening to the flow of time and her own heartbeat.

"We usually don't receive guests on Mondays, Lily, but since it's a beautiful woman, I have to make an exception." Before the master entered the room, her cheerful voice came from afar.

If she heard correctly, this voice belonged to Liz...

A familiar light figure walked in from the opened door.She is nearly fifty years old with a blue tulle scarf wrapped around her head and a long home shawl, but her face eroded by the years is still lively and delicate, dignified and generous, and her black eyes Full of intelligence, his body, which was slightly fattened because of the smooth life, was bound up by the nostalgic tights.

"Good evening, Nightcrawler, I am Mrs. Elizabeth Bingley, and welcome to..." She stopped abruptly, as if someone had strangled her.Elizabeth stared blankly at the young, beautiful, blond girl standing up from the sofa chair, and after a while, she exclaimed, "Jane!"

At this time, Jane could calmly say: "Good evening, dear Aunt Elizabeth, I am the daughter of Mrs. Jean Gautier, Marguerite Gautier." She took the name from "La Traviata" .

Elizabeth rushed forward to hold her hand, and looked at her over and over again. In an instant, tears overflowed from her dark eyes.She didn't care to wipe her tears with a handkerchief, but stared at her with wide eyes, saying over and over again: "That's right, Jane hasn't written back for 23 years...it looks like...it's so similar, Margaret , you look exactly like Jane..." Her whole body was trembling, her tall chest heaving up and down.

Jane hurriedly helped her younger sister who was 22 years older than herself, let her sit on the sofa chair, and took out the bromine salt for her to smell.

"Jane, your mother...how is she? Where is she?" Elizabeth, who had recovered, asked eagerly.

Jane bit her lips tightly. After a while, she finally hardened her heart and said lightly, "Buried in the loess, Li...Aunt Elizabeth, 23 years ago."

Elizabeth stared blankly at her, and said to herself: "Buried in the loess...I should have guessed...so beautiful, so kind and angelic Jane..." Elizabeth hugged "23 years ago" The daughter of "Jane" who was buried in the loess, cried unscrupulously like a child.

Jane reached out to wipe away the tears from her younger sister's wrinkles, patted her back that was no longer so straight, kissed her cheeks that were much looser than four years ago—no, 26 years ago—and wished that all ten fingers would become middle fingers ——

God of time travel, you are too ruthless and cruel.

In the blink of an eye, time flies, things are changing, people are changing, things are impermanent, and the vicissitudes of life are condensed in just a few years.

Elizabeth was a brave and strong girl--no, brave and strong lady, and she forced herself to compose herself, and acted like an aunt, and ordered drinks and tea, and rang the bell for the servants to summon Mr. Bingley and Miss Mary.

She wiped away her tears, put away her pain, performed her aunt's duties perfectly, and greeted her niece who fell from the sky.

At this moment, Jane just wanted to touch her younger sister's thinning hair, and said softly: "Liz is not crying, I'm here."

When Mr. Bingley ran downstairs in a hurry, Jane couldn't help feeling: Although time is like a butcher's knife, some people can't help but have natural beauty—for example, Mr. Bingley in front of me is about 50 years old. , It's just a transformation from a beautiful boy to a beautiful uncle.

"Oh, God! You're just like my sister-in-law! You're as indistinguishable from each other as two lilies!" Mr. Bingley's howl gradually died down in his wife's eyes.

In contrast, little Mary's—no, Aunt Mary's—responses were much calmer.She has shed the pretentious and conceited habits of her youth, and it seems that she has truly grasped the essence of philosophy. A gentle and loving smile appeared on her face, which is not very old because it is so ordinary: "That's great, Ma. You are a gift from God, Grete. How did you come to find us in London, my dear?" She didn't even stop quoting and showing off.

"Letter, Mary... Aunt Mary, mother's letter, she has always treasured it, and I found it by accident." Calling myself "Mom" or something is really cheating...

"If Katie came back, how happy she would be!" Elizabeth sighed, and she regained her lively appearance, "Your Aunt Catherine opened a factory in the United States to invest, and exploited the hard-earned money of the poor. Reluctantly set foot on the land of England where there is no oil and water. And Mr. Darcy... Poor Mr. Darcy is traveling in France, and his life has been at the hands of your good mother, Margaret."

Jane: "..." Should she be ashamed?

"I'll send a telegram to Fitzwilliam and tell him to return to London immediately!" Mr. Bingley's watery green eyes were filled with tears, which made his eyes look like two pieces of glass. Even after 26 years, he was still a Uncle with red lips and white teeth.

"Oh no, Mr. Bingley!" Jane Xun quickly stopped the whims of Uncle Mei Bingley, "Are you going to clearly inform Mr. Darcy of the news of mother's death?"

Elizabeth offered her support: "You're right, dear, he's always loved your mother, forgive me for being blunt, Margaret, I'm not sure he's looking forward to seeing the first and only Loved ones, children with other men. You must stay in London, we cannot lose you, dear."

"I will, Aunt Elizabeth. But I can only stay for a week for the time being. I have some things to attend to in Manchester. As soon as those troubles are over, I can't wait to fly over."

"Dear Eliza, I think little Margaret needs to go to bed. She has traveled more than 200 miles and needs to sleep well," Mary reminded.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, my dear, I was so excited to see you that I forgot all my duties as a master! It's really inconsiderate of me to ignore your tiredness!" Elizabeth couldn't help but rolled her arms niece's arm, "Looks like Mary has ordered the servants to tidy up your bedroom, come, let's go upstairs."

Liz's stride is not as brisk and vigorous as that of twenty years old.

When being dragged upstairs by half hugging and half hugging, Jane thought silently.

The parents died, the younger sisters grew old, and the beautiful boy was ravaged by time... Only she, only she remained the same in her travels and wanderings.

Elizabeth combed her hair with her own hands, and said while wiping tears: "This thick golden hair is exactly the same as Jane's back..." After combing her hair and changing her nightgown, she put a smile on this face that was exactly the same as her sister's. A goodnight kiss, just like they would have done every night 23 years ago.

Lying on a fluffy feather pillow and covered with a soft eiderdown quilt, Jane fell into tangled thoughts again:

In the past, Zhuang Zhou dreamed that he was a butterfly, and the butterfly was so vivid, he described himself as a suitable aspiration!I don't know Zhou Ye.If you suddenly feel it, then you will feel like a week.I don't know if Zhou Zhimeng is Hu Die and?Butterfly's dream is Zhou Yu?Zhou and Hu Die must be divided.This is called materialization.

Is there a possibility that my whole life is an extremely vivid dream?

In fact, I'm just a butterfly dreaming that I'm a human?

My love, love, persistence and pursuit are all dreams.

After waking up again, will I find that I am actually a caterpillar, dreaming of "thinking I am a butterfly dreaming of the world"?

In the haze, Jane fell into a milk chocolate-like sleep in the deep thinking of "reality" and "dream".

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