Emily Brontë

Besides, he might come and begin a string of abuse or complainings; I’m certain I should recriminate, and God knows where we should end!

Though I would give no information, he discovered, through some of the other servants, both her place of residence, and the existence of the child. Still he didn’t molest her; for which forbearance she might thank his aversion, I suppose.

[…] heedless of my expostulations and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash around her […]

‘None of that nonsense! We’re not going to hurt thee, Linton—isn’t that thy name? Thou art thy mother’s child, entirely! Where is my share in thee, puling chicken?’

Now, was it not the depth of absurdity—of genuine idiocy, for that pitiful, slavish, mean-minded brach to dream that I could love her?

[...] and Mrs. Earnshaw undertook to keep her sister-in-law in due restraint, when she returned home employing art, not force—with force she would have found it impossible.

Cathy was a powerful ally at home; and between them they at length persuaded my master to acquiesce in their having a ride or a walk together about once a week, under my guardianship, and on the moors nearest the Grange: for June found him still declining.

It was a close, sultry day: devoid of sunshine, but with a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain

"Linton is just six months younger than I am," […] "How delightful it will be to have him for a playfellow!"