Little girl, here is a book entitled the ’Child’s Guide,’ read it with prayer, especially that part containing ’An account of the awfully sudden death of Martha G —, a naughty child addicted to falsehood and deceit.’
Brocklehurst, I believe I intimated in the letter which I wrote to you three weeks ago, that this little girl has not quite the character and disposition I could wish: should you admit her into Lowood school, I should be glad if the superintendent and teachers were requested to keep a strict eye on her, and, above all, to guard against her worst fault, a tendency to deceit.
I gathered my energies and launched them in this blunt sentence — "I am not deceitful: if I were, I should say I loved you; but I declare I do not love you: I dislike you the worst of anybody in the world except John Reed; and this book about the liar, you may give to your girl, Georgiana, for it is she who tells lies, and not I." Mrs. Reed’s hands still lay on her work inactive: her eye of ice continued to dwell freezingly on mine.
You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad character, a deceitful disposition; and I’ll let everybody at Lowood know what you are, and what you have done."
"Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child," said Mr. Brocklehurst; "it is akin to falsehood, and all liars will have their portion in the lake burning with fire and brimstone; she shall, however, be watched, Mrs. Reed.
There are no more uses of "deceit" in the book.
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I’ll never forget her deceit.
Nothing is easier than self-deceit. For what each man wishes, that he also believes to be true.