"Jane Eyre"
by Charlotte Bronte

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     "This will be your luggage, I suppose?" said the man rather abruptly when he saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage.

     "Yes." He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car, and then I got in; before he shut me up, I asked him how far it was to Thornfield.

     "A matter of six miles."

     "How long shall we be before we get there?"

     "Happen an hour and a half."


     He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat outside, and we set off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time to reflect; I was content to be at length so near the end of my journey; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant conveyance, I meditated much at my ease.

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