At the first finger his father laid on him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as if he would go into convulsions.
'You shall not meddle with him!' I continued.

'He hates you--they all hate you--that's the truth! A happy family you have; and a pretty state you're come to!' 'I shall come to a prettier, yet, Nelly,' laughed the misguided man, recovering his hardness.

'At present, convey yourself and him away.

And hark you, Heathcliff! clear you too quite from my reach and hearing.

I wouldn't murder you to-night; unless, perhaps, I set the house on fire: but that's as my fancy goes.' While saying this he took a pint bottle of brandy from the dresser, and poured some into a tumbler.
'Nay, don't!' I entreated.