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Chapter 27

Seven days glided away, every one marking its course by the
henceforth rapid alteration of Edgar Lintonís state. The
havoc that months had previously wrought was now
emulated by the inroads of hours.

Catherine, we would fain have deluded yet; but her own quick
spirit refused to delude her: it divined in secret, and brooded on
the dreadful probability, gradually ripening into certainty.

She had not the heart to mention her ride, when Thursday
came round; I mentioned it for her, and obtained permission to
order her out of doors; for the library, where her father stopped a
short time daily--the brief period he could bear to sit up--and his
chamber, had become her whole world. She grudged each
moment that did not find her bending over his pillow, or seated by
his side. Her countenance grew wan with watching and sorrow,
and my master gladly dismissed her to what he flattered himself
would be a happy change of scene and society; drawing comfort
from the hope that she would not now be left entirely alone after
his death.

He had a fixed idea, I guessed by several observations he let
fall, that, as his nephew resembled him in person, he would
resemble him in mind; for Lintonís letters bore few or no
indications of his defective character. And I, through pardonable
weakness, refrained from correcting the error; asking myself what
good there would be in disturbing his last moments with
information that he had neither power nor opportunity to turn to

We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden

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