I would fain have spoken to her, but my hand was held by a grasp of iron: I was hurried along by a stride I could hardly follow; and to look at Mr. Rochester's face was to feel that not a second of delay would be tolerated for any purpose.
Hubiera querido hablarla, pero una mano de hierro asió mi brazo y me vi obligada a caminar a un paso que apenas me era posible mantener. Una mirada al rostro de Rochester me indicó que él no quería perder ni un segundo.