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330 dropped to the floor. “Go to Linton now, as I told you; and cry at your ease! I shall be your father, tomorrow--all the father you’ll have in a few days--and you shall have plenty of that,--you can bear plenty--you’re no weakling: you shall have a daily taste, if I catch such a devil of a temper in your eyes again!” Cathy ran to me instead of Linton, and knelt down, and put her burning cheek on my lap, weeping aloud. Her cousin had shrunk into a corner of the settle, as quiet as a mouse, congratulating himself, I daresay, that the correction had lighted on another than him. Mr. Heathcliff, perceiving us all confounded, rose, and expeditiously made the tea himself. The cups and saucers were laid ready. He poured it out, and handed me a cup. “Wash away your spleen,” he said. “And help your own naughty pet and mine. It is not poisoned, though I prepared it. I’m going out to seek your horses.” Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit somewhere. We tried the kitchen door, but that was fastened outside; we looked at the windows--they were too narrow for even Cathy’s little figure. “Master Linton,” I cried, seeing we were regularly imprisoned, “you know what your diabolical father is after, and you shall tell us, or I’ll box your ears, as he has done your cousin’s.” “Yes, Linton; you must tell,” said Catherine. “It was for your sake I came, and it will be wickedly ungrateful if you refuse.” “Give me some tea, I’m thirsty, and then I’ll tell you,” he answered. “Mrs. Dean, go away. I don’t like you standing over me. Now, Catherine, you are letting your tears fall into my cup. I won’t drink that. Give me another.” |