Chapter 17: Asleep and Awake

⁠​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌⁠March winds were howling round the house, the clock was striking two, the library lamp still burned, and Moor sat writing with an anxious face. Occasionally, he paused to look backward through the leaves of the book in which he wrote; sometimes he sat with suspended pen, thinking deeply; and once or twice he laid it down, to press his hand over eyes more weary than the mind that compelled them to