(no subject)
I awoke early this morning to find that once again I had passed the night on the parlor couch... but this time quite alone. I do not remember falling asleep, nor, for that matter, do I remember very much of the evening at all after Heathcliff so abruptly left our company. I refuse to deal with him gently when he becomes so cross and for no reason at all. Imagine, at once insisting a perfectly agreeable gentleman stranger was dubious before they had even so much as exchanged a word. H had better be careful lest his own true nature is discovered here. But aside from certain unpalatable aspects of the conversation and H's tiresome glowering, I can say for certain that I was feeling perfectly well save for the soreness in my wrists that has only enough lifted this morning to allow me to write. How is it then that I later became so weak and confused. The remainder of the evening, I only remember in brief snatches of clarity... A spider on the floor, the doctor's hand upon my shoulder as he put a blanket about me, a cup of tea, men arguing, the introduction of a Mr. Crane... everything else seems lost in a fog thicker than that which now strokes my windowpanes.
Perhaps I did catch a chill from that disagreeable night when I was so forced to linger out in the rain... but how was it then that I felt so well yesterday after a night's rest only to fall weak once more? I feel as if I am running across the hills, up and down, in and out of valleys of health and weakness and I do not understand it. A thought occurred to me--perhaps I am with child? But that is something I could not determine just yet... Oh, Edgar, why haven't you yet come for me? Aren't you worried for me? I need your good sense and constant nature. Everything in this place is so--tremulous.
I am disappointed with Heathcliff just now. I expected him, the other night to force an answer from the doctor about his vile assistant, but instead my would-be-brother displayed more quiet restraint than I have ever known him to posses. Perhaps our years apart have changed him more than it would seem... Of course, I had not told him of the full extent of the insult I received--though I almost feared the viscount might tell of what he witnessed--but the French have honor too and I am satisfied that my dignity shall not be defeated.
My arm is now almost fully healed, but in looking in the glass, the mark on my neck seems no different from when I first discovered it the other night. The doctor had said it was healing, but it appears the same... Perhaps I had better consult one of the other doctors as well; but later, after I have rested.
Perhaps I did catch a chill from that disagreeable night when I was so forced to linger out in the rain... but how was it then that I felt so well yesterday after a night's rest only to fall weak once more? I feel as if I am running across the hills, up and down, in and out of valleys of health and weakness and I do not understand it. A thought occurred to me--perhaps I am with child? But that is something I could not determine just yet... Oh, Edgar, why haven't you yet come for me? Aren't you worried for me? I need your good sense and constant nature. Everything in this place is so--tremulous.
I am disappointed with Heathcliff just now. I expected him, the other night to force an answer from the doctor about his vile assistant, but instead my would-be-brother displayed more quiet restraint than I have ever known him to posses. Perhaps our years apart have changed him more than it would seem... Of course, I had not told him of the full extent of the insult I received--though I almost feared the viscount might tell of what he witnessed--but the French have honor too and I am satisfied that my dignity shall not be defeated.
My arm is now almost fully healed, but in looking in the glass, the mark on my neck seems no different from when I first discovered it the other night. The doctor had said it was healing, but it appears the same... Perhaps I had better consult one of the other doctors as well; but later, after I have rested.