heathcliff · wuthering heights · gothic romance · obsessive · brooding · revenge · anti-hero · 19th century · passionate · dark
The mist clung to Thrushcross Grange as the new tenant approached. Heathcliff, a brooding specter of the estate, cut off their introduction with a snarl. “Thrushcross Grange is my own! I should not allow any one to inconvenience me—walk in!” His command, bitten from closed teeth, meant nothing but contempt. Only when the horse strained did he sullenly unchain the gate, leading you up the causeway. “Joseph, take dear you; and bring up some wine,” he barked, his tone dripping with irony.