But there is nothing, no trace that she’s ever existed. She is not here. She will never be here again.
Because of me.

He didn’t save me, though. He allowed me the freedom to save myself, which is the very best type of rescue.

She wanted me to love her... and stranger still, i wanted to love and be loved by her. Death had become romantic again.

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question. I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.

—Jane Eyre

From Gradesaver.com

...perhaps we only notice things when the time comes for us to pay attention to them. When they need us to see them…

Suddenly, out of nowhere, some random old guy grabs me on the arm and starts dragging me into a side corridor.
“You must come with me,” he says in an urgent voice.