Depressed.

And he’s gone. For Europe. For who knows how long. I am enjoying teaching still. But… there is something lacking.

Gushing.

I don’t know how we ever got on without Mr. Rochester here at Thornfield. He is wonderful. And engaging, and intelligent. And wonderful. I found out how he came to have Adele. She’s the daughter (most likely not his) of a French singer he was infatuated with, years ago. The singer died, and so he took Adele. She adores him, and he tolerates her. I think he would like her more if he knew for sure she was actually his daughter. Unfortunately, I have to say that there is no resemblance between them.

Oh, and I saved his life. His bed caught on fire, and I put it out. Yay me!