A cold blast rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post.

She lay still now, her face bathed in tears.

Exhaustion of body had entirely subdued her spirit: our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child.
'How long is it since I shut myself in here ?' she asked, suddenly reviving.
'It was Monday evening,' I replied, 'and this is Thursday night, or rather Friday morning, at present.' 'What! of the same week ?' she exclaimed.

'Only that brief time ?' 'Long enough to live on nothing but cold water and ill-temper,' observed I.
'Well, it seems a weary number of hours,' she muttered doubtfully: 'it must be more.

I remember being in the parlour after they had quarrelled, and Edgar being cruelly provoking, and me running into this room desperate.