I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind and the driving of the snow.

I heard also the fur bow repeat its teasing sound and ascribed it to the right cause,

but it annoyed me so much that I resolved to silence it if possible, and I thought I rose and

endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple, a circumstance observed

by me when awake, but forgotten.

"'I must stop it, nevertheless,' I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass,

and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch, instead of which my fingers closed on the fingers of a little ice-cold hand.

The intense horror of nightmare came over me.

I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed. Let me in! Let me in!

Who are you? I asked, struggling meanwhile to disengage myself.

Catherine Linton, I'm come home. I'd lost my way on the moor.

And as it spoke, I discerned obscurely a child's face looking through the window.

So, what an incredibly chilling scene to kick off this new show.

It's from Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights and how brilliantly it was performed, I have to say.

By me!

I think there were two people in that performance tabby, actually.

I can't believe you rushed to give yourself all the credit and deny any to me.

That's poor.

I brought all the melodrama, all the pathos.

I think I was both, you know, deeply moving, but also somewhat disturbing.

Well, I actually think that's going to set the tone for the show.

So, hello everybody.

...