ton. Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me?"
She had some reason to put the question, for shame, and pride threw double gloom over his countenance, and kept him immoveable.
"Shake hands, Heathcliff," said Mr. Earnshaw, condescendingly; "once in a way, that is permitted."
"I shall not!" replied the boy finding his tongue at last, "I shall not stand to be laughed at, I shall not bear it!"
And he would have broken from the circle, but Miss Cathy seized him again.
"I did not mean to laugh at you," she said, "I could not hinder myself, Heathcliff, shake hands, at least! What are you sulky for? It was only that you looked odd—If you wash your face, and brush your hair it will be all right. But you are so dirty!"
She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her own, and also at her dress
