Two distant figures roamed the crags and tors. Illuminated by the lightning I saw she wore a full length dress and shawl, he was clad in breeches and greatcoat. Neither appeared affected by the rampant weather.
“Who were they?” I queried at breakfast.
“Trick of the storm,” the landlord of the Wuthering Heights Hotel replied.
“Or perhaps it was our Cathy and Heathcliff.” His face remained dead-pan.