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'Yester-evening I sat in my nook reading some old books till late
on towards twelve. It seemed so dismal to go up-stairs, with the
wild snow blowing outside, and my thoughts continually reverting to
the kirk-yard and the new-made grave! I dared hardly lift my eyes
from the page before me, that melancholy scene so instantly usurped
its place. Hindley sat opposite, his head leant on his hand;
perhaps meditating on the same subject. He had ceased drinking at
a point below irrationality, and had neither stirred nor spoken
during two or three hours. There was no sound through the house
but the moaning wind, which shook the windows every now and then,
the faint crackling of the coals, and the click of my snuffers as I
removed at intervals the long wick of the candle. Hareton and
Joseph were probably fast asleep in bed. It was very, very sad:
and while I read I sighed, for it seemed as if all joy had vanished
from the world, never to be restored.
'The doleful silence was broken at length by the sound of the
kitchen latch: Heathcliff had returned from his watch earlier than
usual; owing, I suppose, to the sudden storm. That entrance was
fastened, and we heard him coming round to get in by the other. I
rose with an irrepressible expression of what I felt on my lips,
which induced my companion, who had been staring towards the door,
to turn and look at me.
'"I'll keep him out five minutes," he exclaimed. "You won't
object?"
'"No, you may keep him out the whole night for me," I answered.
"Do! put the key in the look, and draw the bolts."
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