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WUTHERING HEIGHTS.
167
CHAPTER VIII.
Summer drew to an end, and early Autumn—it was past Michaelmas, but the harvest was late that year, and a few of our fields were still uncleared.
Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers: at the carrying of the last sheaves, they stayed till dusk, and the evening happening to be chill damp, my master caught a bad cold, that settling obstinately on his lungs, confined him
