Poor lad! I'm sorry, too.

One can't help missing an old companion: though he had the worst tricks with him that ever man imagined, and has done me many a rascally turn.

He's barely twenty-seven, it seems; that's your own age: who would have thought you were born in one year ?' I confess this blow was greater to me than the shock of Mrs.Linton's death: ancient associations lingered round my heart; I sat down in the porch and wept as for a blood relation, desiring Mr.Kenneth to get another servant to introduce him to the master.

I could not hinder myself from pondering on the question--'Had he had fair play ?' Whatever I did, that idea would bother me: it was so tiresomely pertinacious that I resolved on requesting leave to go to Wuthering Heights, and assist in the last duties to the dead.

Mr.Linton was extremely reluctant to consent, but I pleaded eloquently for the friendless condition in which he lay; and I said my old master and foster-brother had a claim on my services as strong as his own.