St. John plays with my thoughts

Reader I hope you remember my most recent post; St. John makes my heart quiver. Edward wouldn’t dream of making me feel like this. The way St. John looks into Diana and Marys eyes, with so much passion, brilliance and admiration. I feel that I’m an outsider to him; I feel it in my bones when he is around me. St. John is a good man. He works for God. His striking faith his unquestionable work as a clergyman. He honours my intelligence, tells me my French is brilliant. Could he be jealous? Maybe he thinks I’ll take away the close bond, him Diana and Mary have, I hope you do know that St. John is my cousin. I and he are different you see; he works for God, I pray to God. St. John has always had money. I haven’t. His always had sisters, I haven’t, not even one.

I’m forgetting I haven’t mentioned why I’m so worried about mine and St. Johns relationship. It’s all too much for me. I shall inform you readers. But for now let me tell you about the terrible dream I had last night, it woke me up and I couldn’t sleep after. It was about Edward, his psychotic wife pushed Edward off Thornfield roof, while a fire was occurring in Thornfield. The doctor in my dreams was trying to calm down my hysterical cry. He said that Bertha Edwards psychotic wife thought she was pushing him into sand. She thought she was in the sea, in her old town of Coulibri in Jamaica. I’m trying not to think any think by it. Should I take it as a sign reader?