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Chapter 31

Yesterday was bright, calm, and frosty. I went to the
Heights as I proposed; my housekeeper entreated me to
bear a little note from her to her young lady, and I did not
refuse, for the worthy woman was not conscious of anything odd
in her request.

The front door stood open, but the jealous gate was fastened, as
at my last visit; I knocked, and invoked Earnshaw from among the
garden beds; he unchained it, and I entered. The fellow is as
handsome a rustic as need be seen. I took particular notice of him
this time; but then he does his best, apparently, to make the least
of his advantages.

I asked if Mr. Heathcliff were at home. He answered, No; but he
would be in at dinner-time. It was eleven o’clock, and I announced
my intention of going in, and waiting for him, at which he
immediately flung down his tools and accompanied me, in the
office of watchdog, not as a substitute for the host.

We entered together; Catherine was there, making herself
useful in preparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; she
looked more sulky and less spirited than when I had seen her first.
She hardly raised her eyes to notice me, and continued her
employment with the same disregard to common forms of
politeness as before; never returning my bow and good-morning
by the slightest acknowledgment.

“She does not seem so amiable,” I thought, “as Mrs. Dean
would persuade me to believe. She’s a beauty, it is true; but not an

Earnshaw surlily bid her remove her things to the kitchen.

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