Novel & Cerita Kindle Wuthering Heights

I had started a story weeks ago on a whim when I had accompanied her for her admission process, and I’d been unable to shake it since, I dislike leaving books unfinished. This edition of Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë’s storm-drenched tragedy that Columbia kept locked away in their Rare Books and Manuscripts Library was something special. Annotated and preserved in a way that made you feel like the author might’ve touched it herself. Harvard’s libraries hadn’t satisfied me, and asking my sister for her student privileges would have taken an eternity. She had a way of making small favors feel like bargaining with the devil. I pushed the door to the library open, and the atmosphere shifted at

It was only a brief moment, but I would recognize that tattoo anywhere. On the left peck of the man's chest, swirling ink formed a huge snowflake with a snarling wolf. I knew that picture. It was the sigil of house Caldore. I had seen it in books and read about it in stories. The older witches whispered it in the tales they told my village at night. Wolves with hearts as cold as ice and skin that snow melts upon. I was in Northwood, and what was worse was that I knew the man who was rummaging angrily through the books in his room. I should have realized it the moment I saw his glowing blue eyes.

“The young lady has read her Brontë, at least. Though I do wonder if such a great passion is a bit wasted on a horse.” I blink at him, shocked, really, that he understood my reference. I wouldn’t have thought Wuthering Heights was on the reading list for the Mafia King. Then, I speak without thinking. “Well, I suppose that until a greater passion reveals itself, I will spend all my love on him.” Kent lifts himself from the wall, standing solidly in the stable doorway with his arms crossed. “I wonder what my son would say to that,” he says, low and soft.

Until, having landed, she stood once again in a valley, shadowed by towering shelves of dusty spines and faded pages. “Not a reader?” he said after a brief pause. “Oh no, no, I am.” She raked her fingers through her hair. A nervous tick, the old guy creeping her out despite her having been there for less than ten minutes. “But it’s all Kindle. A lot easier that way.” She chuckled. He did not. “But those aren’t books,” he said. “Of course they are.” Raising her head, she caught his eye. Challenged him.

Don't just skip this book again; add to library. Enjoy! Your loving author; Natasha Gwen

I walked angrily down the hallway on the way to my own bedroom and laid down. Groaning, I grabbed one of my English Lit books, 'Wuthering Heights,' and tried to get some reading done. That was a mistake… Cathy and Heathcliff were at least 20 years apart in age, at least that was what the analytical footnotes in my academic copy told me. Well, I'd succeeded in distracting myself from Bethany, but now Ellis crept back into my mind.

He wasn’t the evil grandfather I’d built up in my mind… or the one Adrian had warned me about. To my surprise, we actually had a lot in common. His suite was straight out of some old-money, vintage film. When he asked me to fetch him a book from his library, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek. And there it was. Wuthering Heights. He owned an original archive copy. An actual archive of one of Emily Brontë’s first published editions… one I’d spent years looking for. It had sold out everywhere when I was a kid. He offered to let me borrow it.

He asked questions—not the shallow kind Damon’s associates had used to make polite conversation, but real questions. “What’s your favorite book?” he asked at one point, leaning close to be heard over the music. She blinked, startled. “My book?” He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Everyone’s got one. The one they can read again and again and never get tired of.” Mya hesitated, then admitted, “Wuthering Heights. It’s… tragic and messy, but there’s something about the passion in it. The kind that consumes people.” Keith nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. Mine’s The Count of Monte Cristo. Revenge, redemption, justice—it’s a story that makes you think about what really matters when you lose everything.”

He took out a book from the shelf and I checked for the title. It was wuthering heights. “Have you read this?” He asked me and I nodded excitedly. “Yes I have.” “Who’s your favorite character in the book?” He asked. “Heathcliff.” I answered almost immediately. “Why do you like him?” “He’s intelligent. And he’s wild. The combination of those two things made me like him. “Hmmm.” He only made a sound but didn't respond. “You? Who’s your favorite character in the book.” I asked him and he thought for a while before answering me.

I walked past the bookcases, running my fingers over the bindings as I did so. I stopped on a book I wanted to read; Wuthering Heights, and pulled it out. I then sat down in the dark corner, leaning against the shelves and began to read. It had been a while since I had simply read, being on the run left little time for such luxuries. It felt nice to do something so mundane for a while. I lost track of how long I was reading for, but it must have been a while. At the part where Edgar Linton begins to fall sick, I heard someone clear their throat. I jumped and looked up to see Brody leaning against the bookshelf; watching me with a smirk.