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Wuthering Heights
by
Emily Brontë
[Chapter I]
l80l.—I have just returned from a visit to my land-lord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country. In all England I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society—a perfect misanthropist's heaven; and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation be-tween us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.
''Mr. Heathcliff?'' I said.
A nod was the answer.
''Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grang . . .
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