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Updated: June 29, 2025
The tale only begins to move when Lockwood drops out and Nelly takes it up. At that point Emily Brontë's style becomes assured in its directness and simplicity, and thenceforward it never falters or changes its essential character. And it is there, first of all, in that unfaltering, unchanging quality of style that she stands so far above her sister.
His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder. So, not to interrupt Hareton Earnshaw and Catherine Heathcliff, I went round to the kitchen, where my old friend Nelly Dean sat sewing and singing a song. Mrs. Dean jumped to her feet as she recognised me. "Why, bless you, Mr. Lockwood!" she exclaimed.
"The thing isn't confined to the bloated capitalists alone," he laughed one afternoon while sitting with Warren Lockwood in the latter's rooms. "The radicals are up a tree and the conservatives down a cellar. What do you make of it, Warren?" "I haven't paid much attention to it," the novelist smiled. "I've been busy on a book. What's all this stuff about Germany, anyway?
One of the young women had tripped out by this time from the porter's lodge, and dropped the stranger a pretty curtsey. "Grandfather sometimes does not recollect very well," she said, pointing to her head. "Your honour seems to have heard of Lockwood?" "And you, have you never heard of Colonel Francis Esmond?"
"She doesn't bide here; shoo's up at th' Heights." "Are you housekeeper, then?" "Eea, aw keep th' house," she replied. "Well, I'm Mr. Lockwood, the master. Are there any rooms to lodge me in, I wonder? I wish to stay all night." "T' maister!" she cried in astonishment. "Yah sud ha' sent word. They's nowt norther dry nor mensful abaht t' place!"
Confess that you lied, when you used Miss Lockwood's name just now! No! I don't believe you on your oath; I will believe nobody but Miss Lockwood herself. Where does she live? Tell me that, you noxious stinging little insect and you may go. Terrified as she was, Mrs. Ferrari hesitated.
Never does she talk to me that she does not get something out of me that I do not wish to tell her. She is uncanny." Personally, I could not blame Inez for her opinion. I could understand it. Those often baleful eyes had a penetrating power that one might easily fall a victim to. "But you can trust Mr. Lockwood," he returned. "Surely he is proof against her, against any woman." Inez flushed.
Abraham Lockwood was born on the 3rd November, 1792. His birthplace, also called Lockwood, is situated about a mile and half out of Huddersfield. It makes no pretensions to importance in any way. The only public building which it boasts, is the Mechanics' Institute, a structure of moderate size, yet substantially built.
"Rather," growled Lockwood. "That fool boy, Davis's kid the car-boy, you know ran me down in the mine. I yelled at him. Somehow he couldn't stop. Two wheels went over my foot and the car loaded, too." Chino shuddered politely. "Now here's the point," continued Lockwood. "Um there's nobody round outside there? Take a look, Chino, by the window there. All clear, eh? Well, here's the point.
The Solicitor-General took up the rest of the day with a rancorous reply. Sir Edward Clarke even had to remind him that law officers of the Crown should try to be impartial. One instance of his prejudice may be given. Examining Oscar as to his letters to Lord Alfred Douglas, Sir Frank Lockwood wanted to know whether he thought them "decent"? The witness replied, "Yes."
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