“Philipa, or Pips as she was called, was just too good to be true for me. She could do everything and anything with expertise. Everyone, but everyone, loved her and thought she was wonderful, even the German soldiers in the enemy trenches.”
“Master Heathcliff,” I resumed, “have you forgotten all Catherine’s kindness to you last winter, when you affirmed you loved her, and when she brought you books and sung you songs, and came many a time through wind and snow to see you? She wept to miss one evening, because you would be disappointed; and you felt then that she was a hundred times too good to you: and now you join him against her. That’s fine gratitude, is it not?”