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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library- Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
212

on my charity. I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to
death, and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen,
and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him;
and I would not, though he groaned from this to his dying day, and
wept tears of blood for Catherine! No, indeed, indeed, I wouldn’t!”
And here Isabella began to cry; but, immediately dashing the
water from her lashes, she recommenced.

“You asked, what has driven me to flight at last? I was
compelled to attempt it, because I had succeeded in rousing his
rage a pitch above his malignity. Pulling out the nerves with red-
hot pincers requires more coolness than knocking on the head. He
was worked up to forget the fiendish prudence he boasted of, and
proceeded to murderous violence. I experienced pleasure in being
able to exasperate him; the sense of pleasure woke my instinct of
self-preservation, so I fairly broke free; and if ever I come into his
hands again he is welcome to a signal revenge.

“Yesterday, you know, Mr. Earnshaw should have been at the
funeral. He kept himself sober for the purpose--tolerably sober:
not going to bed mad at six o’clock and getting up drunk at twelve.
Consequently he rose, in suicidal low spirits, as fit for the church
as for a dance; and instead, he sat down by the fire and swallowed
gin or brandy by tumblerfuls.

“Heathcliff--I shudder to name him!--has been a stranger in
the house from last Sunday till today. Whether the angels have fed
him, or his kin beneath, I cannot tell, but he has not eaten a meal
with us for nearly a week. He has just come home at dawn, and
gone upstairs to his chamber, locking himself in--as if anybody
dreamt of coveting his company! There he has continued, praying
like a Methodist--only the deity he implored is senseless dust and


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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library- Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte



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