Now, Catherine, you are letting your tears fall into my cup.

I won't drink that.

Give me another.' Catherine pushed another to him, and wiped her face.

I felt disgusted at the little wretch's composure, since he was no longer in terror for himself.

The anguish he had exhibited on the moor subsided as soon as ever he entered Wuthering Heights; so I guessed he had been menaced with an awful visitation of wrath if he failed in decoying us there; and, that accomplished, he had no further immediate fears.
'Papa wants us to be married,' he continued, after sipping some of the liquid.