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"On this day of the year, long before you were born, this heap of decay," stabbing with her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on the table but not touching it, "was brought here. It and I have worn away together. The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth of mice have gnawed at me." (1.11.99)
While Miss Havisham has stopped all of the clocks at Satis House, the mildew, mold, and creatures around her tell of the passage of time.
"So!" she said, without being startled or surprised; "the days have worn away, have they ?" (1.11.46)
Miss Havisham has both no concept of time and an impeccable sense of time. She doesn’t remember what day of the week it is on any given day, but she knows exactly when her birthday falls each year.
So unchanging was the dull old house, the yellow light in the darkened room, the faded spectre in the chair by the dressing-table glass, that I felt as if the stopping of the clocks had stopped Time in that mysterious place, and, while I and everything else outside it grew older, it stood still. Daylight never entered the house as to my thoughts and remembrances of it, any more than as to the actual fact. It bewildered me, and under its influence I continued at heart to hate my trade and to be ashamed of home. (1.17.2)
Satis House embodies a conundrum. As decayed as it may be, as much and as grossly as it shows the passage of time, it remains unchanged in its decay.