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“How?” he inquired.
“Why, almost bright and cheerful. No, almost nothing--very
much excited, and wild and glad!” she replied.

“Night-walking amuses him, then,” I remarked, affecting a
careless manner: in reality, as surprised as she was, and anxious to
ascertain the truth of her statement; for to see the master looking
glad would not be an everyday spectacle. I framed an excuse to go

Heathcliff stood at the open door; he was pale, and he trembled;
yet, certainly, he had a strange, joyful glitter in his eyes, that
altered the aspect of his whole face.

“Will you have some breakfast?” I said. “You must be hungry,
rambling about all night!” I wanted to discover where he had
been, but I did not like to ask directly.

“No, I’m not hungry,” he answered, averting his head, and
speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to
divine the occasion of his good humour.

I felt perplexed: I didn’t know whether it were not a proper
opportunity to offer a bit of admonition.

“I don’t think it right to wander out of doors,” I observed,
“instead of being in bed; it is not wise, at any rate, this moist
season. I daresay you’ll catch a bad cold, or a fever--you have
something the matter with you now!”

“Nothing but what I can bear,” he replied, “and with the
greatest pleasure, provided you’ll leave me alone. Get in, and don’t
annoy me.”

I obeyed; and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat.
“Yes!” I reflected to myself, “we shall have a fit of illness. I
cannot conceive what he has been doing!”

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