Грозовий 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."
