A few days ago, I started rereading Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. I bought my copy in 1983, not sure if I've reread it since then. Last night, n.b. after I had written yesterday's post with the "magic mirror" haiku poem here, I came to the following passage in chapter 7. It's the servant Nelly speaking to the young boy Heathcliff, in front of a mirror:
Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the glass, and I'll let you see what you should wish. Do you mark those two lines between your eyes, and those thick brows, that instead of rising arched, sink in the middle, and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like devil's spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes --
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