And From The Midst Of Cheerless Gloom

Cathy, This Lamb Of Yours Threatens Like A Bull!' He Said. 'it Is In Danger Of Splitting Its Skull Against My Knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, I'm Mortally Sorry That You Are Not Worth Knocking Down!

It Is Astonishing How Sociable I Feel Myself Compared With Him.

I'll Walk Where My Own Nature Would Be Leading: It Vexes Me To Choose Another Guide: Where The Grey Flocks In Ferny Glens Are Feeding; Where The Wild Wind Blows On The Mountain-side.

The Intense Horror Of Nightmare Came Over Me: I Tried To Draw Back My Arm, But The Hand Clung To It, And A Most Melancholy Voice Sobbed, 'let Me In - Let Me In!' 'who Are You?' I Asked, Struggling, Meanwhile, To Disengage Myself. 'catherine Linton,' It Replied, Shiveringly (why Did I Think Of Linton? I Had Read Earnshaw Twenty Times For Linton) - 'i'm Come Home: I'd Lost My Way On The Moor!' As It Spoke, I Discerned, Obscurely, A Child's Face Looking Through The Window.

In Secret Pleasure — Secret Tears This Changeful Life Has Slipped Away