Page:Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey (1st edition), Volume 3 (Agnes Grey).djvu/276

268 short specimen: cold and languid as the lines may seem, it was almost a passion of grief to which they owed their being.

Yes! at least, they could not deprive me of that; I could think of him day and night; and I could feel that he was worthy to be thought of. Nobody knew him as I did; nobody could appreciate him as I did; nobody could love him as Icould, if I might; but there was the evil. What business had I to think so much of one that never thought of me? Was it not foolish?was it not wrong?