And as for the vague something --- was it a sinister or a
sorrowful, a designing or a desponding expression? --- that opened upon a
careful observer, now and then, in his eye, and closed again before one could
fathom the strange depth partially disclosed; that something which used to make
me fear and shrink, as if I had been wandering amongst volcanic-looking hills,
and had suddenly felt the ground quiver, and seen it gape: that something, I,
at intervals, beheld still; and with throbbing heart, but not with palsied
nerves. Instead of wishing to shun, I longed only to dare --- to divine it.
Charlotte Brontë
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