Rochester could never stand the sight of tears, it would only make him sick. Worst still, nostalgic from reminiscing a certain harsh memory. Right then, he was feeling the urge to walk away.
The scene, live-streaming in front of him, was nothing short of.… pathetic! He could not fathom why she had to jerk like that and cry so much.
What should have been a moment of relief following her return from limbo, he thought, was turning into a weeping festival. She had been unconscious for more than twenty-four hours, — so one would expect that the scenery in his bedroom would be one of triumph and not a mourning spree as the atmosphere had become.
Rochester thought he could no longer take it; neither the image of her sobbing rigorously nor the feeling that she could be harming his baby by pursuing that sort of behaviour.
"I will be out for a bit," he feebly announced, and without sparing a single second to wait on her likely interruption, he turned on his heels.
