Mr. Rochester had sometimes read my unspoken thoughts with an acumen to me incomprehensible: in the present instance he took no notice of my abrupt vocal response; but he smiled at me with a certain smile he had of his own, and which he used but on rare occasions. He seemed to think it too good for common purposes: it was the real sunshine of feeling--he shed it over me now.
Mr. Rochester, néha, számomra is megfoghatatlanul, olvasni tudott gondolataimban; most oda se hallgatott arra, amit mondtam, viszont azzal a különös mosolyával mosolygott rám, amely olyan ritkán derítette föl arcát, mintha csak ünnepi percekre tartogatná. Igazi napfényes mosoly volt.