may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you–haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always–take any form–drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!
Since we are finding ourselves in a vintage vein, as Mari put it yesterday, I thought it fitting to continue with a book of yore as well. Allow me to take you back to 1847, and to Emily Brontë’s (1818-48) gothic masterpiece, Wuthering Heights.
I find it difficult to compose a short summary (or to find one to steal), as this is a story with lots of happenings. However, I will say that it centers around Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw, and that it is a tale of passionate love and of revenge, of rain and darkness and mist and moors. You simply must read it.