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When I awoke, without having parted in my sleep with the perception of my wretchedness, the clocks of the Eastward churches were striking five, the candles were wasted out, the fire was dead, and the wind and rain intensified the thick black darkness. (2.39.102)
Even in the thick of a great, blinding storm, London still abides by the rules of time.
They both raised their eyes as I went in, and both saw an alteration in me. I derived that, from the look they interchanged. (3.44.1)
It is almost as if Miss Havisham and Estella did not think he ever would change.
She gradually withdrew her eyes from me, and turned them on the fire. After watching it for what appeared in the silence and by the light of the slowly wasting candles to be a long time, she was roused by the collapse of some of the red coals, and looked towards me again – at first, vacantly – then, with a gradually concentrating attention. (3.44.35)
Miss Havisham loses track of time. However, sometimes, she knows exactly what day it is – like on her birthday. Her concept of time seems simultaneously specific and general. It also seems like she’s enacting the timelessness of death.