A movement of Catherines relieved me a little presently: she put up her hand to clasp his neck, and bring her cheek to his as he held her; while he, in return, covering her with frantic caresses, said wildly-
“You teach me now how cruel youve been-cruel and false. Why did you despise me? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: theyll blight you-theyll damn you. You loved me-then what right had you to leave me? What right-answer me-for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart-you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. What kind of living will it be when you-oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?”
Continue reading “Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy?”