floral oil painting

`I say, I wish you to come with me into the house!' I cried, thinking him deaf, yet highly disgusted at his rudeness.
`Nor nuh me! I getten summat else to do,' he answered, and continued his work; moving his lantern jaws meanwhile, and surveying my dress and countenance (the former a great deal too fine, but the latter, I'm sure, as sad as he could desire) with sovereign contempt.
I walked round the yard, and through a wicket, to another door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more civil servant might show himself. After a short suspense, it was opened by a tall, gaunt man, without neckerchief, and otherwise extremely slovenly; his features were lost in masses of shaggy hair that hung on his shoulders; and his eyes, too, were like a ghostly Catherine's with all their beauty annihilated.
`What's your business here?' he demanded grimly. `Who are you?'
`My name was Isabella Linton,' I replied. `You've seen me before, sir. I'm lately married to Mr Heathcliff, and he has brought me here--I suppose by your permission.'
`Is he come back, then?' asked the hermit, glaring like a hungry wolf.
`Yes--we came just now,' I said; `but he left me by the kitchen door; and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bulldog.'
`It's well the hellish villain has kept his word!' growled my future host, searching the darkness beyond me in expectation of discovering Heathcliff; and then he indulged in a soliloquy of execrations, and threats of what he would have done had the `fiend' deceived him.