[Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte]@TWC D-Link bookWuthering Heights CHAPTER VIII 5/17
It was a fever; and it is gone: her pulse is as slow as mine now, and her cheek as cool.' He told his wife the same story, and she seemed to believe him; but one night, while leaning on his shoulder, in the act of saying she thought she should be able to get up to-morrow, a fit of coughing took her--a very slight one--he raised her in his arms; she put her two hands about his neck, her face changed, and she was dead. As the girl had anticipated, the child Hareton fell wholly into my hands. Mr.Earnshaw, provided he saw him healthy and never heard him cry, was contented, as far as regarded him.
For himself, he grew desperate: his sorrow was of that kind that will not lament.
He neither wept nor prayed; he cursed and defied: execrated God and man, and gave himself up to reckless dissipation.
The servants could not bear his tyrannical and evil conduct long: Joseph and I were the only two that would stay.
I had not the heart to leave my charge; and besides, you know, I had been his foster-sister, and excused his behaviour more readily than a stranger would.
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