Emily Jane Brontë

Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us.

Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,’ he interrupted, wincing. ‘I should not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it—walk in!’

He is a dark—skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman:

He'll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved or hated again.

confess it with shame—shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther

It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him.

In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.

He is a dark—skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire

she understood me at last, and looked a return—the sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shame—shrunk icily into myself, like a snail

‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir?’