Tw*ttering Heights

Wuthering Heights, one tweet at a time.

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The end.

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earth.

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wondered how any one could ever imagine
unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet

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benign sky: watched the moths
fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind
breathing through the grass, and

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Edgar Linton's
only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its foot; Heathcliff's
still bare.

I lingered round them, under that

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storms.

I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next the
moor: on middle one grey, and half buried in the heath;

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deprived of glass; and
slates jutted off here and there, beyond the right line of the roof, to
be gradually worked off in coming autumn

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direction of the kirk.
When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had made progress, even in
seven months: many a window showed black gaps

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recognised me
for a respectable character by the sweet ring of a sovereign at his feet.

My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the

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the house-door;
and so should have confirmed Joseph in his opinion of his
fellow-servant's gay indiscretions, had he not fortunately

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remembrance
into the hand of Mrs. Dean, and disregarding her expostulations at my
rudeness, I vanished through the kitchen as they opened

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the window. 'Together, they would brave Satan and all his
legions.'

As they stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a last

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moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning.

'_They_ are afraid of nothing,' I grumbled, watching their approach
through

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Lockwood,' said Nelly, shaking her head. 'I believe the dead
are at peace: but it is not right to speak of them with levity.'

At that

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will live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut up.'

'For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it?' I observed.

'No, Mr.

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New Year's Day.'

'And who will live here then?'

'Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and, perhaps, a lad to keep him
company. They

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the Grange.

'They are going to the Grange, then?' I said.

'Yes,' answered Mrs. Dean, 'as soon as they are married, and that will be
on

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the dark
now; and I don't like being left by myself in this grim house: I cannot
help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to

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as
he traversed the moors alone, on the nonsense he had heard his parents
and companions repeat. Yet, still, I don't like being out in

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nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on so I bid him take
the road lower down. He probably raised the phantoms from thinking,