'We're dismal enough without conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us.

Come, come, be merry and like yourself! Look at little Hareton! _he's_ dreaming nothing dreary.
How sweetly he smiles in his sleep!' 'Yes; and how sweetly his father curses in his solitude! You remember him, I daresay, when he was just such another as that chubby thing: nearly as young and innocent.

However, Nelly, I shall oblige you to listen: it's not long; and I've no power to be merry to-night.' 'I won't hear it, I won't hear it!' I repeated, hastily.
I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and Catherine had an unusual gloom in her aspect, that made me dread something from which I might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe.

She was vexed, but she did not proceed.

Apparently taking up another subject, she recommenced in a short time.
'If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable.' 'Because you are not fit to go there,' I answered.