"I sought her eye, desireous to read there the intelligence which I could not discern in her face or hear in her conversation. It was merry, rather small. By turns I saw vivacity, vanity, coquerty, look out through its irid, but I watched in vain for a glimps of soul. ... In sunshine, prosperity, the flowers are very well; but how many wet days are there in life--November seasons of disaster, when a man's hearth and home would be cold indeed without the clear, cheering gleam of intellect!"
-Charlotte Bronte, The Professor
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