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dresser, and poured some into a tumbler.

“Nay, don’t!” I entreated. “Mr. Hindley, do take warning. Have
mercy on this unfortunate boy, if you care nothing for yourself!”
“Any one will do better for him than I shall,” he answered.
“Have mercy on your own soul!” I said, endeavouring to snatch
the glass from his hand.

“Not I! On the contrary, I shall have great pleasure in sending it
to perdition to punish its Maker,” exclaimed the blasphemer.
“Here’s to its hearty damnation!”

He drank the spirits, and impatiently bade us go; terminating
his command with a sequel of horrid imprecations, too bad to
repeat or remember.

“It’s a pity he cannot kill himself with drink,” observed
Heathcliff, muttering an echo of curses back when the door was
shut. “He’s doing his very utmost; but his constitution defies him.
Mr. Kenneth says he would wager his mare that he’ll outlive any
man on this side Gimmerton, and go to the grave a hoary sinner;
unless some happy chance out of the common course befall him.”

I went into the kitchen, and sat down to lull my little lamb to
sleep. Heathcliff, as I thought, walked through to the barn. It
turned out afterwards that he only got as far as the other side the
settle, when he flung himself on a bench by the wall, removed
from the fire, and remained silent.

I was rocking Hareton on my knee, and humming a song that

“It was far in the night, and the bairnies grat,
The mither beneath the mools heard that,”
when Miss Cathy, who had listened to the hubbub from her room,
put her head in and whispered: “Are you alone, Nelly?”

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