We had one of my favorite people come round today, Mr. Heathcliff Earnshaw.  He is such an interesting person; the amount of tragedy that poor man has seen, it is a wonder he can be so positive.  He is so distinguished looking as well, dark and with a heavy brow; your strong silent type.  He has an air of mystery about him, as if you have no idea what’s behind that intense, unwavering stare – the little devil.

His great love is the wretched Catherine Linton.  She is so high and mighty, she forgets she came from the same place Heathcliff did.  Why, to hear her go on and on, you would think she was to the manor born.  She was, of course, born to a manor but she wasn’t always so fussy.  The prissy little nit took a dog bite and turned it into a title.  Of course, not one to let well enough alone, she strings both Heathcliff and that fancy little husband of hers, Edgar, along: “oh, I am so confused, I don’t know who I love more?  What should I do?” Confused?  Try living with your predecessor in the attic; I’ll give you confusion, Mrs. Linton.  I don’t know why some people think their story is so much more interesting than yours?

Catherine thinks herself above us now.  I cannot remember the last time she came to Thornfield to visit with either Mr. Rochester or myself.  Heathcliff goes on and on about her, he is so besotted.  She doesn’t deserve a man of such character and devotion.  She might as well be a ghost, the amount of time she gives him.  Heathcliff’s love for her is such, he saw to it that he became the owner of both Wuthering Heights and her gaudy Thrushcross Grange, not that she even notices.  She’d rather walk the moors wailing than pay attention to either of those fine homes these days.

I do worry about Heathcliff, though, I hope he looks after himself; he seems to live in a precarious part of the area.  They drop like flies there; every other month someone succumbs to some form of natural cruelty.  Why Catherine’s Catherine has already been through a couple of the manor boys.  Hmm, like mother like daughter, if you ask me.

I’m sorry, you must excuse me; Heathcliff is leaving and I would like to say goodbye to him.  Of course she has sent for him.  Grace delivered a message from Catherine reading, “Heathcliff, it’s me, Cathy, I’ve come home, I’m so cold… “ Oh please; the drama with this one!  What, is she in a bush?


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