Page 23
So Lockwood goes out into the hall and realizes he doesn't know where anything is, so he just stands there outside the door and is witness to ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS SCENES IN THIS GRAND WORK OF CLASSIC LITERATURE.
He got on the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. "Cathy, do come. Oh do--once more! Oh! my heart's darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last!"
BEHOLD, THAT MOVING DEPTH OF EMOTION, THAT COMPELLING DEMONSTRATION OF LOVE, THAT badly written piece of melodrama is what it is.
I still can't believe how many commas this book has. I think she used her entire life's quota of commas for this one book.
Anywho. Lockwood is all "oh I feel so sorry for this gentlemen and I feel terrible for having witnessed this and for having related my dream and upsetting him so" and goes downstairs. See, Lockwood, this is why you need to learn how to be quiet. He has all the mental acumen and common sense of Bertram Wooster, without being nearly so entertaining nor well-written.
So he finds the back-kitchen - what, there are two kitchens now? What happened to the other one? Wasn't it supposed to be in some remote corner of the house? Wouldn't IT be the back-kitchen? Why does nothing make sense?!
Ahem. As I was saying, he finds the back kitchen, empty but for an elderly cat who he refers to as Grimalkin and who, as Lockwood sits on one of the available benches, perches himself on the other.
Cat! Poor cat. I hope it has taught the dogs who's boss around these parts.
The two of them - man and cat - slowly doze off before the fire, until their repose was interrupted by none other than his dear friend Joseph! Joseph gives him "a sinister look" and proceeds with lighting, then smoking, a pipe. In silence.
In a genuinely shocking twist, Lockwood does not attempt to engage him in conversation. The boy! He can learn!
A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for a "good morning," but closed it again, the salutation unachieved;
Just in case you guys forgot what kind of glorious prose you are missing.
for Hareton Earnshaw was performing his orisons sotto voce, in a series of curses directed at every object he touched
I am enormously amused by this sentence, it is another rare example of that sharp sarcasm that pops up every here and there.
Orisons, if you are unaware, are prayers.