Chapter 26
Sophie came at seven to dress me: she was very long indeed in accomplishing her task; so long that Mr. Rochester, grown, I suppose, impatient of my delay, sent up to ask why I did not come. She was just fastening my veil (the plain square of blond after all) to my hair with a brooch; I hurried from under her hands as soon as I could. / “Stop!” she cried in French. “Look at yourself in the mirror: you have not taken one peep.” / So I turned at the door: I saw a robed and veiled figure, so unlike my usual self that it seemed almost the image of a stranger.
...the lunatic sprang and grappled his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled. She was a big woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and corpulent besides: she showed virile force in the contest—more than once she almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with a well-planted blow; but he would not strike: he would only wrestle.... Mr. Rochester...turned to the spectators: he looked at them with a smile both acrid and desolate. / “That is my wife,” said he.