Maximum-assistance view: every word above everyday vocabulary is explained at every appearance; each name is introduced at its first appearance in the chapter.

CHAPTER III

The next thing I remember is, waking up with a feeling as if I had had a frightful (causing fright) nightmare (a dream of terror), and seeing before me a terrible red glare (a hard bright light; an angry stare), crossed with thick (of great depth through; dense) black bars. I heard voices, too, speaking with a hollow (empty inside; a dip in the ground) sound, and as if muffled (wrapped so as to dull sound) by a rush (to move with violent haste) of wind or water: agitation (troubled excitement), uncertainty (unsureness), and an all-predominating (ruling over all) sense of terror (overwhelming fear) confused (to mix up) my faculties (a power of mind). Ere (before — an old word) long, I became aware that some one was handling me; lifting me up and supporting me in a sitting posture (the carriage of the body), and that more tenderly (with tender love) than I had ever been raised or upheld (to support) before. I rested my head against a pillow (a head cushion) or an arm, and felt easy.

In five minutes more the cloud (a sky mass of vapor; to darken with sadness) of bewilderment (utter confusion) dissolved (to melt away; break up): I knew quite well that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare (a hard bright light; an angry stare) was the nursery (the children's room) fire. It was night: a candle (a wax light) burnt on the table; Bessie (Bessie, the nursemaid at Gateshead, kind to Jane) stood at the bed-foot (the foot of the bed) with a basin (a wide shallow bowl) in her hand, and a gentleman (a man of good birth and manners) sat in a chair near my pillow (a head cushion), leaning (to tilt against; thin) over me.

I felt an inexpressible (beyond words) relief, a soothing (calming) conviction (settled belief; a finding of guilt) of protection and security, when I knew that there was a stranger (one unknown) in the room, an individual not belonging (to be one's own; to be part of) to Gateshead (Gateshead Hall, the Reeds' house where Jane grows up), and not related to Mrs. Reed (Jane's aunt by marriage, mistress of Gateshead). Turning from Bessie (though her presence was far less obnoxious (hateful) to me than that of Abbot (Miss Abbot, Mrs Reed's lady's-maid), for instance, would have been), I scrutinised (to examine closely) the face of the gentleman (a man of good birth and manners): I knew him; it was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary (a maker and seller of medicines), sometimes called in by Mrs. Reed when the servants (one who serves) were ailing (to be sick): for herself and the children she employed (to use; to give work) a physician (a doctor).

“Well, who am I?” he asked.

I pronounced (to speak a word; declare) his name, offering him at the same time my hand: he took it, smiling and saying, “We shall do very well by-and-by (before long).” Then he laid me down, and addressing Bessie, charged her to be very careful that I was not disturbed (to break the quiet of) during the night. Having given some further directions, and intimated (closely familiar) that he should call again the next day, he departed (to go away); to my grief (deep sorrow): I felt so sheltered (shielded from wind and weather) and befriended (treated as a friend) while he sat in the chair near my pillow (a head cushion); and as he closed the door after him, all the room darkened (made dark) and my heart again sank (to go down): inexpressible (beyond words) sadness (sorrow) weighed (to measure heaviness) it down.

“Do you feel as if you should sleep, Miss?” asked Bessie, rather softly (gently and quietly).

Scarcely (hardly) dared (to have the courage) I answer her; for I feared the next sentence might be rough (not smooth; rude). “I will try.”

“Would you like to drink, or could you eat anything?”

“No, thank you, Bessie.”

“Then I think I shall go to bed, for it is past twelve (twelve) o’clock (the time-keeping machine); but you may call me if you want anything in the night.”

Wonderful civility (polite courtesy) this! It emboldened (emboldened: given courage) me to ask a question.

“Bessie, what is the matter with me? Am I ill?”

“You fell sick, I suppose, in the red-room (red-room: the grand cold bedroom where Mr Reed died) with crying; you’ll be better soon, no doubt.”

Bessie went into the housemaid (a maid of the house)’s apartment, which was near. I heard her say—

“Sarah, come and sleep with me in the nursery (the children's room); I daren (dare — daren't: dare not)’t for my life be alone with that poor child to-night: she might die; it’s such a strange thing she should have that fit: I wonder if she saw anything. Missis was rather too hard.”

Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed; they were whispering (a soft hushed voice) together for half-an-hour (thirty minutes) before they fell asleep (sleeping). I caught scraps (a small left piece) of their conversation, from which I was able only too distinctly (clearly) to infer (to reason out from signs) the main subject discussed.

“Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished (disappeared)”—“A great black dog behind him”—“Three loud raps (a sharp knock) on the chamber (a room) door”—“A light in the churchyard (the ground around a church, with graves) just over his grave (the burial pit; solemnly serious),” &c., &c.

At last both slept: the fire and the candle (a wax light) went out. For me, the watches of that long night passed in ghastly (horrible; deathly pale) wakefulness (lying awake); ear (the organ of hearing), eye, and mind were alike (the same) strained (to stretch hard; a family stock) by dread (deep fear): such dread (deep fear) as children only can feel.

No severe or prolonged (to draw out longer) bodily (in body) illness (sickness) followed this incident of the red-room (red-room: the grand cold bedroom where Mr Reed died); it only gave my nerves (the body's feeling thread; courage) a shock (a violent jolt) of which I feel the reverberation (an echoing ring) to this day. Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe (to be in debt for) some fearful (full of fear; dreadful) pangs (a sharp stab of pain) of mental suffering, but I ought (should) to forgive (to pardon) you, for you knew not what you did: while rending (giving; making — rendering) my heart-strings (heart-strings: the deepest feelings), you thought you were only uprooting (uprooted: torn up by the roots) my bad propensities (a natural leaning).

Next day, by noon (midday), I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped (to fold a covering around) in a shawl (a cloth wrap for the shoulders) by the nursery (the children's room) hearth (the floor of the fireplace; the fireside). I felt physically (in the body) weak and broken down: but my worse ailment (an illness) was an unutterable (not to be spoken) wretchedness (misery) of mind: a wretchedness (misery) which kept drawing from me silent (making no sound) tears (a drop of weeping; to rip); no sooner had I wiped (to rub clean) one salt drop from my cheek (the side of the face) than another followed. Yet, I thought, I ought (should) to have been happy, for none of the Reeds were there, they were all gone out in the carriage (a wheeled passenger vehicle; bearing) with their mama (mother — a child's word). Abbot, too, was sewing (to stitch with needle and thread) in another room, and Bessie, as she moved hither (to here) and thither (to that place), putting away toys (a plaything) and arranging (to set in order) drawers (a sliding box in a table), addressed to me every now and then a word of unwonted (unusual for the person) kindness (kind goodness). This state (state: ceremony; pomp — the old sense here) of things should have been to me a paradise (heaven) of peace, accustomed (to make used to) as I was to a life of ceaseless (never stopping) reprimand (an official scolding) and thankless (unrewarded) fagging (hard dull toil); but, in fact, my racked (a holding frame) nerves (the body's feeling thread; courage) were now in such a state (state: ceremony; pomp — the old sense here) that no calm could soothe (to calm; comfort), and no pleasure excite (to stir up) them agreeably (pleasantly).

Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she brought up with her a tart (a small open pastry with a sweet filling) on a certain brightly (with bright light) painted china plate, whose bird of paradise (heaven), nestling (nestling: settling close and snug) in a wreath (a woven ring of leaves) of convolvuli (climbing trumpet flowers) and rosebuds (rose buds), had been wont (habit; custom) to stir (to move; to rouse) in me a most enthusiastic (burning with eagerness) sense of admiration (wondering approval); and which plate I had often petitioned (a written asking) to be allowed to take in my hand in order to examine (to inspect closely) it more closely, but had always hitherto (until now) been deemed (to judge; consider) unworthy (not worthy) of such a privilege (a special right). This precious (of great worth) vessel (a container; a ship) was now placed on my knee (the leg's middle joint), and I was cordially (with warm friendliness) invited to eat the circlet (a small circle) of delicate (finely tender) pastry (baked flour dough) upon it. Vain (useless; empty-proud) favour (a kind act; to prefer)! coming, like most other favours (a kind act; to prefer) long deferred (to put off; to yield to another) and often wished for, too late! I could not eat the tart (a small open pastry with a sweet filling); and the plumage (a bird's feathers) of the bird, the tints (a light shade of color) of the flowers, seemed strangely (in a strange way) faded (to lose color and strength): I put both plate and tart (a small open pastry with a sweet filling) away. Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word book acted as a transient (passing quickly) stimulus (a spur to action), and I begged (to ask humbly) her to fetch (to go and bring) Gulliver (Gulliver's Travels)’s Travels from the library. This book I had again and again perused (perused: read through) with delight (great pleasure). I considered it a narrative (a told story) of facts, and discovered in it a vein (a blood channel; a streak) of interest (interest: the spectacle that draws a crowd — the old sense here) deeper than what I found in fairy (a small magical being) tales (a story): for as to the elves, having sought them in vain (useless; empty-proud) among foxglove (the tall purple-belled flower) leaves and bells, under mushrooms (the field fungus gathered for food) and beneath (under) the ground-ivy (a creeping ivy) mantling (a cloak) old wall-nooks (nooks in walls), I had at length made up my mind to the sad truth, that they were all gone out of England to some savage (wild; fierce) country where the woods were wilder (wildered: bewildered) and thicker (of great depth through; dense), and the population more scant (barely enough); whereas (while on the other hand), Lilliput (the land of tiny people in Gulliver) and Brobdignag (the land of giants in Gulliver) being, in my creed (a set of beliefs), solid parts of the earth’s surface, I doubted not that I might one day, by taking a long voyage (a journey), see with my own eyes the little fields, houses, and trees, the diminutive (a pet short form of a name) people, the tiny cows (the milk-giving beast), sheep (the wool-bearing flock animal), and birds of the one realm (a kingdom); and the corn-fields (corn-fields: fields of corn) forest-high (as high as a forest), the mighty (very great) mastiffs (a large powerful guard dog), the monster (a dreadful unnatural creature) cats, the tower-like (like a tower) men and women, of the other. Yet, when this cherished (to hold dear) volume was now placed in my hand—when I turned over its leaves, and sought in its marvellous (wonderful) pictures the charm (winning attractiveness; a magic token) I had, till now, never failed to find—all was eerie (strangely frightening) and dreary (gloomy and dull); the giants were gaunt (thin and worn) goblins (an ugly mischief-making spirit), the pigmies (pigmies: tiny people) malevolent (wishing harm) and fearful (full of fear; dreadful) imps (a little devil), Gulliver a most desolate (empty and lifeless) wanderer (one who roams) in most dread (deep fear) and dangerous regions. I closed the book, which I dared (to have the courage) no longer peruse (perused: read through), and put it on the table, beside (at the side of) the untasted (not tasted) tart (a small open pastry with a sweet filling).

Bessie had now finished dusting (fine dry earth) and tidying (neat and in order) the room, and having washed (to clean with water) her hands, she opened a certain little drawer (a sliding box in a table), full of splendid (grand and shining) shreds (a torn strip) of silk (the fine soft thread of the East) and satin (glossy smooth silk), and began making a new bonnet (a woman's tied hat) for Georgiana (Georgiana Reed, Jane's vain pretty cousin)’s doll (a child's figure toy). Meantime (the time between) she sang: her song was—

“In the days when we went gipsying (gipsying: roaming like gipsies), A long time ago.”

I had often heard the song before, and always with lively (full of life) delight (great pleasure); for Bessie had a sweet voice,—at least, I thought so. But now, though her voice was still sweet, I found in its melody (a tune) an indescribable (beyond describing) sadness (sorrow). Sometimes, preoccupied (to fill the mind beforehand) with her work, she sang the refrain (to hold back from) very low, very lingeringly (reluctantly); “A long time ago” came out like the saddest cadence (the fall and rhythm of the voice) of a funeral (a burial rite) hymn (a song of worship). She passed into another ballad (a story-telling song), this time a really doleful (sad and heavy) one.

“My feet they are sore (painful; a hurt place), and my limbs (an arm or leg; a branch) they are weary (tired out); Long is the way, and the mountains are wild; Soon will the twilight (the half light of evening) close moonless (without a moon) and dreary (gloomy and dull) Over the path of the poor orphan (a child with no parents) child.

Why did they send me so far and so lonely (alone and sad), Up where the moors (wild open heath) spread and grey (the dull colour between black and white) rocks are piled (a heaped mass)? Men are hard-hearted (without pity), and kind angels (a heavenly messenger) only Watch o’er the steps of a poor orphan (a child with no parents) child.

Yet distant (far off) and soft the night breeze (a light wind) is blowing, Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam (a great timber; a ray of light; to smile brightly) mild (gentle), God, in His mercy (pity shown to the helpless), protection is showing, Comfort and hope to the poor orphan (a child with no parents) child.

Ev’n should I fall o’er the broken bridge passing, Or stray (to wander off) in the marshes, by false lights beguiled (to pass time pleasantly; to charm), Still will my Father, with promise and blessing (God's favor called down), Take to His bosom (the breast) the poor orphan (a child with no parents) child.

There is a thought that for strength should avail (to be of use) me, Though both of shelter (a protecting cover) and kindred (of the same family or kind) despoiled (to plunder; rob); Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me; God is a friend to the poor orphan (a child with no parents) child.”

“Come, Miss Jane, don’t cry,” said Bessie as she finished. She might as well have said to the fire, “don’t burn!” but how could she divine (of God) the morbid (sickly gloomy) suffering to which I was a prey (the hunted victim)? In the course of the morning Mr. Lloyd came again.

“What, already up!” said he, as he entered the nursery (the children's room). “Well, nurse (one who tends the sick; to feed at the breast), how is she?”

Bessie answered that I was doing very well.

“Then she ought (should) to look more cheerful (full of cheer). Come here, Miss Jane: your name is Jane, is it not?”

“Yes, sir, Jane Eyre (the orphan governess who tells her own story).”

“Well, you have been crying, Miss Jane Eyre; can you tell me what about? Have you any pain?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh! I daresay (I dare say; I suppose) she is crying because she could not go out with Missis in the carriage (a wheeled passenger vehicle; bearing),” interposed (to put in a word between others) Bessie.

“Surely not! why, she is too old for such pettishness (cross childish temper).”

I thought so too; and my self-esteem (one's opinion of oneself) being wounded (a bodily hurt) by the false charge, I answered promptly (without delay), “I never cried for such a thing in my life: I hate going out in the carriage (a wheeled passenger vehicle; bearing). I cry because I am miserable (deeply unhappy).”

“Oh fie, Miss!” said Bessie.

The good apothecary (a maker and seller of medicines) appeared a little puzzled (a baffling question). I was standing before him; he fixed his eyes on me very steadily (without wavering): his eyes were small and grey (the dull colour between black and white); not very bright, but I dare (to have the courage) say I should think them shrewd (sharply clever in practical things) now: he had a hard-featured (with hard features) yet good-natured (kindly by nature) looking face. Having considered me at leisure (free time), he said—

“What made you ill yesterday?”

“She had a fall,” said Bessie, again putting in her word.

“Fall! why, that is like a baby again! Can’t she manage to walk at her age? She must be eight or nine years old.”

“I was knocked (to strike with the knuckles) down,” was the blunt (dull-edged; plain-spoken) explanation (a making clear), jerked (a sudden sharp pull) out of me by another pang (a sharp stab of pain) of mortified (stung with hurt pride) pride (high self-regard); “but that did not make me ill,” I added; while Mr. Lloyd helped himself to a pinch (to squeeze sharply) of snuff (powdered tobacco for the nose).

As he was returning the box to his waistcoat (a vest worn under the coat) pocket (the sewn-in pouch), a loud bell rang for the servants (one who serves)’ dinner; he knew what it was. “That’s for you, nurse (one who tends the sick; to feed at the breast),” said he; “you can go down; I’ll give Miss Jane a lecture (a teaching speech) till you come back.”

Bessie would rather have stayed, but she was obliged (to compel; bind by duty) to go, because punctuality (being on time) at meals (a sitting of food) was rigidly (stiffly) enforced (to compel by power) at Gateshead Hall (the Reeds' house).

“The fall did not make you ill; what did, then?” pursued (to chase after) Mr. Lloyd when Bessie was gone.

“I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost (a spirit of the dead) till after dark.”

I saw Mr. Lloyd smile and frown (to draw the brows in displeasure) at the same time.

“Ghost (a spirit of the dead)! What, you are a baby after all! You are afraid of ghosts (a spirit of the dead)?”

“Of Mr. Reed (the Reeds of Gateshead: Jane's aunt and her children John, Eliza, and Georgiana)’s ghost (a spirit of the dead) I am: he died in that room, and was laid out there. Neither Bessie nor any one else will go into it at night, if they can help it; and it was cruel (hard-hearted) to shut me up alone without a candle (a wax light),—so cruel (hard-hearted) that I think I shall never forget it.”

“Nonsense! And is it that makes you so miserable (deeply unhappy)? Are you afraid now in daylight (the light of day)?”

“No: but night will come again before long: and besides,—I am unhappy (not happy),—very unhappy (not happy), for other things.”

“What other things? Can you tell me some of them?”

How much I wished to reply fully to this question! How difficult it was to frame any answer! Children can feel, but they cannot analyse (to break down and examine) their feelings; and if the analysis is partially (in part) effected in thought, they know not how to express the result of the process in words. Fearful (full of fear; dreadful), however, of losing this first and only opportunity of relieving (to ease; to take another's place on duty) my grief (deep sorrow) by imparting (to give; make known) it, I, after a disturbed (to break the quiet of) pause (a brief stop), contrived (to plan cleverly; devise) to frame a meagre (thin and poor), though, as far as it went, true response.

“For one thing, I have no father or mother, brothers or sisters.”

“You have a kind aunt (a parent's sister) and cousins (an uncle's or aunt's child).”

Again I paused (a brief stop); then bunglingly (in a clumsy botched way) enounced (enounced: declared)—

“But John Reed (Jane's bullying cousin) knocked (to strike with the knuckles) me down, and my aunt (a parent's sister) shut me up in the red-room (red-room: the grand cold bedroom where Mr Reed died).”

Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box (a small box for powdered tobacco).

“Don’t you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house?” asked he. “Are you not very thankful (full of thanks) to have such a fine place to live at?”

“It is not my house, sir; and Abbot says I have less right to be here than a servant (one who serves).”

“Pooh! you can’t be silly (foolish) enough to wish to leave such a splendid (grand and shining) place?”

“If I had anywhere else to go, I should be glad to leave it; but I can never get away from Gateshead till I am a woman.”

“Perhaps you may—who knows? Have you any relations besides Mrs. Reed?”

“I think not, sir.”

“None belonging (to be one's own; to be part of) to your father?”

“I don’t know: I asked Aunt (a parent's sister) Reed once, and she said possibly I might have some poor, low relations called Eyre (Jane Eyre, the orphan governess who tells her own story), but she knew nothing about them.”

“If you had such, would you like to go to them?”

I reflected (to throw back; to think over). Poverty (being poor) looks grim (hard and stern) to grown people; still more so to children: they have not much idea of industrious (hard-working), working, respectable (worthy of respect) poverty (being poor); they think of the word only as connected with ragged (torn and tattered) clothes, scanty (barely enough; thin) food, fireless (without a fire) grates (with thanks; thankfully), rude (ill-mannered) manners, and debasing (debased: lowered) vices: poverty (being poor) for me was synonymous (meaning the same) with degradation (being dragged low in rank or worth).

“No; I should not like to belong (to be one's own; to be part of) to poor people,” was my reply.

“Not even if they were kind to you?”

I shook (to move to and fro) my head: I could not see how poor people had the means of being kind; and then to learn to speak like them, to adopt (to take as one's own) their manners, to be uneducated (without schooling), to grow up like one of the poor women I saw sometimes nursing (one who tends the sick; to feed at the breast) their children or washing (to clean with water) their clothes at the cottage (a small country house) doors of the village of Gateshead: no, I was not heroic (of heroes) enough to purchase liberty (freedom) at the price of caste (rank in society).

“But are your relatives (a family member; compared) so very poor? Are they working people?”

“I cannot tell; Aunt (a parent's sister) Reed says if I have any, they must be a beggarly (poor as beggars) set: I should not like to go a begging (asking for alms).”

“Would you like to go to school?”

Again I reflected (to throw back; to think over): I scarcely (hardly) knew what school was: Bessie sometimes spoke of it as a place where young ladies sat in the stocks, wore backboards (backboards: boards to make girls sit straight), and were expected to be exceedingly (extremely) genteel (well-mannered; refined) and precise (exactly fixed): John Reed hated his school, and abused his master; but John Reed’s tastes were no rule for mine, and if Bessie’s accounts of school-discipline (the rule of a school) (gathered (to bring together) from the young ladies of a family where she had lived before coming to Gateshead) were somewhat appalling (filling with horror), her details of certain accomplishments (a thing done well; a polished skill) attained (to reach; achieve) by these same young ladies were, I thought, equally (in equal measure) attractive. She boasted (to praise oneself) of beautiful paintings of landscapes (a wide view of land) and flowers by them executed (to carry out; to put to death); of songs they could sing and pieces they could play, of purses (a money bag) they could net, of French books they could translate (to turn into another language); till my spirit was moved to emulation (striving to match) as I listened. Besides, school would be a complete change: it implied (to hint without saying) a long journey, an entire separation (being parted) from Gateshead, an entrance (the way in) into a new life.

“I should indeed like to go to school,” was the audible (loud enough to hear) conclusion (an end; a judgment) of my musings (quiet thinking).

“Well, well! who knows what may happen?” said Mr. Lloyd, as he got up. “The child ought (should) to have change of air and scene,” he added, speaking to himself; “nerves (the body's feeling thread; courage) not in a good state (state: ceremony; pomp — the old sense here).”

Bessie now returned; at the same moment the carriage (a wheeled passenger vehicle; bearing) was heard rolling up the gravel-walk (a path of gravel).

“Is that your mistress (the lady of the house; a kept woman), nurse (one who tends the sick; to feed at the breast)?” asked Mr. Lloyd. “I should like to speak to her before I go.”

Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room (the room for breakfast), and led the way out. In the interview which followed between him and Mrs. Reed, I presume (to take for granted), from after-occurrences (later events), that the apothecary (a maker and seller of medicines) ventured (a risky undertaking) to recommend my being sent to school; and the recommendation (a word in one's favor) was no doubt readily (willingly; easily) enough adopted (to take as one's own); for as Abbot said, in discussing the subject with Bessie when both sat sewing (to stitch with needle and thread) in the nursery (the children's room) one night, after I was in bed, and, as they thought, asleep (sleeping), “Missis was, she dared (to have the courage) say, glad enough to get rid of such a tiresome (wearying), ill-conditioned (ill-natured) child, who always looked as if she were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand (sly and secret).” Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine (of infancy) Guy Fawkes.

On that same occasion (a particular time; cause) I learned, for the first time, from Miss Abbot’s communications to Bessie, that my father had been a poor clergyman (a minister of the church); that my mother had married him against the wishes of her friends, who considered the match beneath (under) her; that my grandfather (a parent's father) Reed was so irritated (annoyed) at her disobedience (refusal to obey), he cut her off without a shilling (an old British coin; twenty made a pound); that after my mother and father had been married a year, the latter caught the typhus (a deadly camp fever) fever (burning body heat) while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing town where his curacy (a curate's post) was situated (to place), and where that disease was then prevalent (widespread): that my mother took the infection (a sickness that spreads; a spreading) from him, and both died within a month of each other.

Bessie, when she heard this narrative (a told story), sighed (a long sad breath) and said, “Poor Miss Jane is to be pitied (sorrow for another's pain), too, Abbot.”

“Yes,” responded Abbot; “if she were a nice, pretty child, one might compassionate (full of pity) her forlornness (lonely misery); but one really cannot care for such a little toad (a squat rough-skinned hopping creature like a frog) as that.”

“Not a great deal, to be sure,” agreed Bessie: “at any rate, a beauty like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same condition (condition: social rank — the old sense here).”

“Yes, I doat (to be foolishly fond) on Miss Georgiana!” cried the fervent (burning with feeling) Abbot. “Little darling (a dearly loved one)!—with her long curls (a coiled lock of hair) and her blue eyes, and such a sweet colour (what the eye sees as red, blue, and the rest) as she has; just as if she were painted!—Bessie, I could fancy (the imagination; a liking) a Welsh rabbit (the burrowing long-eared animal) for supper (the evening meal).”

“So could I—with a roast (to cook before the fire) onion (the sharp-tasting layered bulb). Come, we’ll go down.” They went.