Wuthering Heights

locality.

It opened into the house, where the females were already astir; Zillah
urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs.
Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the
blaze. She held her hand interposed between the furnace-heat and her
eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to
chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog,
now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face. I was
surprised to see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back
towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever
and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron,
and heave an indignant groan.

“And you, you worthless—” he broke out as I entered, turning to his
daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or
sheep, but generally represented by a dash—. “There you are, at your
idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread—you live on my
charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay
me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight—do you hear,
damnable jade?”

“I’ll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,” answered