(no subject)
I fell asleep in Heathcliff’s chambers last night thinking I should sit there with him only because I could not sleep at all. I do not like to allow myself to visit him there often, for when I do, there is always a fire burning for me that compels me to never wish to leave. But I was awakened by such a sharp pain beneath my ribs that I fled swiftly in the night so as not to wake him with my tears. He would have assisted me if I had asked, but I feared he would again pressure me to take some food. I would do it if I could! But I am so ill with vomiting, I think once more now would scar me. It will pass, I know it must, and I will be more than happy to subsist on tea until then. I know he only insists so because he worries-He has been so gentle and so patent with me lately and has held his tongue so well against every insult that would inflame my vexation. And he looks upon me with such concern and adoration in his strange dark eyes…I scarce know what to make of him and this peace between us which is alike to that of our youths, so long ago lost. It is such that it makes it really very easy to forget that he ever broke my heart. He kissed me the other night even though I had before begged him not to embrace me in such a way, and I-
Better to write on other matters. Heathcliff----
There is Miss Murray and the Count-He has won her over again with that charm of his that is so difficult to resist and both have since tried to convince me that I have been mistaken about my conclusions.
There is my anxiety over Isabella’s prolonged absence, but it cannot help but be mixed with my anger at her irresponsibility. I want to let her enjoy her freedom here, as she has gone on so about how much she has yearned for it, but she is too important to be left without care.
There is my concern for Mr. Gray, who had been attacked and is recovering from a wretched injury. I know only too well how he must be suffering, and the thought that he has been alone for so many days afterwards grows more and more alarming to me. It is not unlike his way, but I cannot help hoping every evening that he will appear for tea or dinner, and each day that he does not, my anxiety grows. He is the latest of us to have been attacked; every time I think such fears are in the past for us here, the terror strikes one of us again. Additionally, I don’t know how I shall ever enact what I intend concerning the dear man if I so little have the opportunity to see him.
There are the conversations I have been-
All of these, I ought to write more about, for each weighs in my heart more dearly than the last…and yet my pen keeps wandering its way over to the margins of the page to trace out-
I feel the pain returning. This is-
Better to write on other matters. Heathcliff----
There is Miss Murray and the Count-He has won her over again with that charm of his that is so difficult to resist and both have since tried to convince me that I have been mistaken about my conclusions.
There is my anxiety over Isabella’s prolonged absence, but it cannot help but be mixed with my anger at her irresponsibility. I want to let her enjoy her freedom here, as she has gone on so about how much she has yearned for it, but she is too important to be left without care.
There is my concern for Mr. Gray, who had been attacked and is recovering from a wretched injury. I know only too well how he must be suffering, and the thought that he has been alone for so many days afterwards grows more and more alarming to me. It is not unlike his way, but I cannot help hoping every evening that he will appear for tea or dinner, and each day that he does not, my anxiety grows. He is the latest of us to have been attacked; every time I think such fears are in the past for us here, the terror strikes one of us again. Additionally, I don’t know how I shall ever enact what I intend concerning the dear man if I so little have the opportunity to see him.
There are the conversations I have been-
All of these, I ought to write more about, for each weighs in my heart more dearly than the last…and yet my pen keeps wandering its way over to the margins of the page to trace out-
I feel the pain returning. This is-