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We had sad work with little Cathy that day; she rose in
high glee, eager to join her cousin, and such passionate
tears and lamentations followed the news of his
departure, that Edgar himself was obliged to sooth her, by
affirming he should come back soon: he added, however, “if I can
get him”; and there were no hopes of that.
This promise poorly pacified her: but time was more potent,
and though still at intervals she inquired of her father when
Linton would return, before she did see him again his features had
waxed so dim in her memory that she did not recognise him.
When I chanced to encounter the housekeeper of Wuthering
Heights, in paying business visits to Gimmerton, I used to ask how
the young master got on; for he lived almost as secluded as
Catherine herself, and was never to be seen. I could gather from
her that he continued in weak health, and was a tiresome inmate.
She said Mr. Heathcliff seemed to dislike him ever longer and
worse, though he took some trouble to conceal it: he had an
antipathy to the sound of his voice, and could not do at all with his
sitting in the same room with him many minutes together.
There seldom passed much talk between them; Linton learnt
his lessons and spent his evenings in a small apartment they called
the parlour; or else lay in bed all day, for he was constantly getting
coughs, and colds, and aches, and pains of some sort.
“And I never knew such a faint-hearted creature,” added the
woman; “nor one so careful of hisseln. He will go on, if I leave the
window open a bit late in the evening. Oh! it’s killing, a breath of
night air! And he must have a fire in the middle of summer; and