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Question:
Writing from John Reed's point of view, retell the fighting scene with Jane Eyre.
Answer:
Oh, fudge! There’s never anything to do in this Godforsaken house. Lizzy and Georgy are playing with their dolls again. Ugh, stupid fools; I will never see the point in making inanimate objects move.
It
was then that I spied a book from the corner of my eye. It was the ‘History of
Rome’, from some douchebag Goldsmith.
Holy
muffins, she’s been touching my books again. Who, you may ask? Well, that ninny
Joan, of course. I have seen her prowling about with my books in her hands.
Filthy, filthy hands. I will have to burn that book.
I
smirked like how a venomous villain would.
Well
then, someone has to teach her a lesson. Who better to do it than me?
I
open the door to the breakfast-room and peered in.
“Boh!
Madame Mope! Where the dickens is she?” I turned towards the drawing room,
“Lizzy! Georgy! Joan is not here: tell mamma she is run out into the rain –
bad animal!”
Lizzy
poked her head into the breakfast-room and then turned to me, saying, “She is
in the window-seat to be sure, Jack.” And, sure enough, when I walked in, there
she was, the little grub, standing by the curtains.
“What
do you want?”
The
nerve of that swine. How dare she address me with not so much as an honorific?
She should know her place.
“Say,
‘what do you want, Master Reed’.”
I
could see the fear in her bloodshot eyes. She was terrified of me.
And
she should be. I am the master of the house and I am not about to let anybody
forget it. Not even mamma.
She
moved towards me then and I stuck my tongue out at her for about three minutes.
I thought she would crumble under my gaze, but I was more astonished at hers.
To say I was annoyed would be an understatement. I was enraged. Immediately, I
struck her hard and watched in – what must have been maddening for her – glee
as she stumbled backwards.
“That
is for your impudence in answering mamma a while since and for your sneaking
way of getting behind curtains, and for the look you had in your eyes two
minutes since, you rat!” I paused for her response, but she remained silent.
“What were you doing behind the curtain?”
She
finally answered, “I was reading.”
The
little pest! She has the gall to read
my books?
“Show
the book.” When she handed it to me, I snatched it away, saying, “You have no
business to take our books; you are a dependent, mamma says; you have no money;
your father left you none; you ought to beg, and not live here with gentlemen’s
children like us, and eat the same meals we do, and wear clothes at our mamma’s
expense. Now, I’ll teach you to rummage my bookshelves: for they are mine; all the house belongs to me,
or will do in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of the way of the
mirror and the windows.”
As
she walked towards the direction I pointed, the wheels in my head turned. I
gripped the book hard and positioned it as such that it aimed right at her
head. And, just as she realized what I was trying to do, threw it with all my
might. The cry that followed was pure gold and I watched with fascination as
the blood trickled down her pale face.
But
this time, she did not just stand idly by after taking the hit. In fact, she
snapped at me! Called me a slave driver!
“What!
What! Did she say that to me? Did you hear her, Eliza and Georgiana? Won’t I
tell mamma? but first –”
I
pulled her hair and bruised her shoulder. The wretch deserved it, for attacking
me as she did. Before I could continue, Bessie and Abbott dragged the runt off.
To
the Red Room, no doubt. Hah! She will die from here in there, if not from the
untreated wound I inflicted upon her head. That will teach her! Nobody defies
me, for I am the master of this household. I will outlive the rest of the
imbeciles under this roof.
I’ll
show them.
~#~
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