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fancied I only intended to tempt and disappoint him.
I showed another, keeping it out of his reach.
“Who has taught you those fine words, my bairn?” I inquired.
“Damn the curate, and thee! Gie me that,” he replied.
“Tell us where you got your lessons, and you shall have it,” said
I. “Who’s your master?”
“Devil daddy,” was his answer.
“And what do you learn from daddy?” I continued.
He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher. “What does he teach
you?” I asked.
“Naught,” said he, “but to keep out of his gait. Daddy cannot
bide me, because I swear at him.”
“Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy?” I observed.
“Ay--nay,” he drawled.
I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff.
“Ay!” he answered again.
Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather
the sentences--“I known’t--he pays dad back what he gies to
me--he curses daddy for cursing me. He says I mun do as I will.”
“And the curate does not teach you to read and write, then?” I
“No, I was told the curate should have his -- teeth dashed down
his -- throat, if he stepped over the threshold--Heathcliff had
I put the orange in his hand, and bade him tell his father that a
woman called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him, by the