‘Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy?’ I observed.
‘Ay - nay,’ he drawled.
‘Who, then?’
‘Heathcliff.’
‘I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff.’
‘Ay!’ he answered again.
Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather the sentences - ‘I known’t: he pays dad back what he gies to me - he curses daddy for cursing me. He says I mun do as I will.’
‘And the curate does not teach you to read and write, then?’ I pursued.
‘No, I was told the curate should have his - teeth dashed down his - throat, if he stepped over the threshold - Heathcliff had promised that!’