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For some days after that evening, Mr. Heathcliff shunned
meeting us at meals; yet he would not consent, formally, to
exclude Hareton and Cathy. He had an aversion to yielding
so completely to his feelings, choosing rather to absent himself--
and eating once in twenty-four hours seemed sufficient sustenance
One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go
downstairs, and out at the front door. I did not hear him re-enter,
and in the morning I found he was still away.
We were in April then; the weather was sweet and warm, the
grass as green as showers and the sun could make it, and the two
dwarf apple-trees near the southern wall in full bloom.
After breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and
sitting with my work under the fir-trees at the end of the house;
and she beguiled Hareton, who had perfectly recovered from his
accident, to dig and arrange her little garden, which was shifted to
that corner by the influence of Joseph’s complaints.
I was comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, and
the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady, who had
run down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a
border, returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr.
Heathcliff was coming in. “And he spoke to me,” she added, with a
“What did he say?” asked Hareton.
“He told me to begone as fast as I could,” she answered. “But
he looked so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment
to stare at him.”