I Am Now Quite Cured Of Seeking

But You Might As Well Bid A Man Struggling In The Water, Rest Within Arm's Length Of The Shore! I Must Reach It First, And Then I'll Rest.

Oh, I'm Burning! I Wish I Were Out Of Doors! I Wish I Were A Girl Again, Half Savage And Hardy, And Free... And Laughing At Injuries, Not Maddening Under Them! Why Am I So Changed?

The Intense Horror Of Nightmare Came Over Me: I Tried To Draw Back My Arm, But The Hand Clung To It, And A Most Melancholy Voice Sobbed, 'let Me In - Let Me In!' 'who Are You?' I Asked, Struggling, Meanwhile, To Disengage Myself. 'catherine Linton,' It Replied, Shiveringly (why Did I Think Of Linton? I Had Read Earnshaw Twenty Times For Linton) - 'i'm Come Home: I'd Lost My Way On The Moor!' As It Spoke, I Discerned, Obscurely, A Child's Face Looking Through The Window.

Terror Made Me Cruel; And Finding It Useless To Attempt Shaking The Creature Off, I Pulled Its Wrist On To The Broken Pane, And Rubbed It To And Fro Till The Blood Ran Down And Soaked The Bedclothes.

You Have Left Me So Long To Struggle Against Death, Alone, That I Feel And See Only Death! I Feel Like Death!