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love as much in eighty years as I could in a day. And Catherine has a heart as deep as I have: the sea could be as readily contained in that horse-trough, as her whole affection be monopolized by him! Tush! He is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse. It is not in him to be loved like me: how can she love in him what he has not?'
`Catherine and Edgar are as fond of each other as any two people can be,' cried Isabella, with sudden vivacity. `No one has a right to talk in that manner, and I won't hear my brother depreciated in silence!'
`Your brother is wondrous fond of you too, isn't he?' observed Heathcliff scornfully. `He turns you adrift on the world with surprising alacrity.'
`He is not aware of what I suffer,' she replied. `I didn't tell him that.
`You have been telling him something, then: you have written, have you?'
`To say that I was married, I did write--you saw the note. `And nothing since?'
`My young lady is looking sadly the worse for her change of condition,' I remarked. `Somebody's love comes short in her case, obviously: whose, I may guess; but, perhaps, I shouldn't say.'