Грозовой перевал

Chapter 7

           Hewentdown;Isethimastoolbythefire,andofferedhimaquantityofgoodthings;buthewassickandcouldeatlittle,andmyattemptstoentertainhimwerethrownaway.Heleanthistwoelbowsonhisknees,andhischinonhishands,andremainedwraptindumbmeditation.Onmyenquiringthesubjectofhisthoughts,heansweredgravely:

           "I’mtryingtosettlehowIshallpayHindleyback.Idon’tcarehowlongIwait,ifIcanonlydoitatlast.IhopehewillnotdiebeforeIdo!"

           "Forshame,Heathcliff!"saidI."ItisforGodtopunishwickedpeople;weshouldlearntoforgive."

           "No,Godwon’thavethesatisfactionthatIshall,"hereturned."IonlywishIknewthebestway!Letmealone,andI’llplanitout:whileI’mthinkingofthatIdon’tfeelpain."

           "ButMr.Lockwood,Iforgetthesetalescannotdivertyou.I’mannoyedhowIshoulddreamofchatteringonatsucharate;andyourgruelcold,andyounoddingforbed!IcouldhavetoldHeathcliff’shistory,allthatyouneedhear,inahalf-a-dozenwords."Thusinterruptingherself,thehousekeeperrose,andproceededtolayasidehersewing;butIfeltincapableofmovingfromthehearth,andIwasveryfarfromnodding."Sitstill,Mrs.Dean,"Icried,"dositstill,anotherhalf-hour!You’vedonejustrighttotellthestoryleisurely.ThatisthemethodIlike;andyoumustfinishitinthesamestyle.Iaminterestedineverycharacteryouhavementioned,moreorless."

           "Theclockisonthestrokeofeleven,sir."

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