Chapter 16

⁠​​​‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​⁠About twelve o’clock that night was born the Catherine you saw at Wuthering Heights: a puny, seven-months’ child; and two hours after the mother died, having never recovered sufficient consciousness to miss Heathcliff, or know Edgar. The latter’s distraction at his bereavement is a subject too painful to be dwelt on; its after-effects showed how deep the sorrow sunk. A great addition, in my eyes,