Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax of the stressful day behind you and drift off to sleep.

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Tonight, I will be continuing the story, Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

Chapter 5

In the course of time, Mr. Earnshaw began to fail. He had been active and healthy,

yet his strength left him suddenly, and when he was confined to the chimney corner, he grew grievously

irritable. And nothing vexed him, and suspected slights of his authority nearly threw him into fits.

This was especially to be remarked if anyone attempted to impose upon or domineer over his favourite.

He was painfully jealous lest a word should be spoken amiss to him, seeming to have got into his head the notion that,

because he liked Heathcliff,

all hated and longed to do him an ill turn.

It was a disadvantage to the lad, for the kinder among us did not wish to fret the master,

so he humoured his partiality, and that humouring was rich nourishment to the child's pride and black tempers.

Still, it became in a manner necessary. Twice or thrice, Hinley's manifestation of scorn,

while his father was ne'er, roused the old man into a fury. He seized his stick to strike him,

and shook with rage that he could not do it.

At last, our curate, we had a curate then, who made the living answer by teaching the little lintons and Earnshaw's and forming his bit of land himself, advised that the young man should be

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