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Updated: June 10, 2025
But I've most of them written on my brain and printed in my heart, and you cannot deprive me of those! Earnshaw blushed crimson when his cousin made this revelation of his private literary accumulations, and stammered an indignant denial of her accusations. 'Mr. Hareton is desirous of increasing his amount of knowledge, I said, coming to his rescue.
Queen Augusta, like Catherine Earnshaw, is a creature of passion and jealousy, and her lover had been faithless. She sings that savage song of defiance and hatred and lamentation: "Light up thy halls!"
Earnshaw sat, morose as usual, at the chimney corner, and my little mistress was beguiling an idle hour with drawing pictures on the window-panes, varying her amusement by smothered bursts of songs, and whispered ejaculations, and quick glances of annoyance and impatience in the direction of her cousin, who steadfastly smoked, and looked into the grate.
I prognosticate for myself an obstinate cold, at least. 'I hope not, sir. Well, you must allow me to leap over some three years; during that space Mrs. Earnshaw 'No, no, I'll allow nothing of the sort!
He was not insolent to his benefactor, he was simply insensible; though knowing perfectly the hold he had on his heart, and conscious he had only to speak and all the house would be obliged to bend to his wishes. As an instance, I remember Mr. Earnshaw once bought a couple of colts at the parish fair, and gave the lads each one.
If he had caught me! It's a pity Earnshaw is not his match in strength: I wouldn't have run till I'd seen him all but demolished, had Hindley been able to do it! 'Well, don't talk so fast, Miss! I interrupted; 'you'll disorder the handkerchief I have tied round your face, and make the cut bleed again.
However, if I am to follow my story in true gossip's fashion, I had better go on; and instead of leaping three years, I will be content to pass to the next summer the summer of 1778, that is nearly twenty-three years ago. On the morning of a fine June day my first bonny little nursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born.
This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton.
Young Earnshaw talked nonsense and Stella dimpled and smiled. She had gained the colour of the moss rose-bud since she had come back to Ireland. There was a daintiness, a delicacy in her little face with the softly moulded, yet firm features, the grey-brown eyes with dark lashes, the arched fine brows, which would have made a plain face distinguished.
They go the rounds of all the respectable houses, and receive contributions every Christmas, and we esteemed it a first-rate treat to hear them. After the usual carols had been sung, we set them to songs and glees. Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music, and so they gave us plenty. Catherine loved it too: but she said it sounded sweetest at the top of the steps, and she went up in the dark: I followed.
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