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fine art oil painting
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when my fool of a guide announced, `This here is t' maister's.' My supper by this time was cold, my appetite gone, and my patience exhausted. I insisted on being provided instantly with a place of refuge, and means of repose.
`Whear the divil?' began the religious elder. `The Lord bless us! The Lord forgie us! Whear the hell wold ye gang? ye marred, wearisome nowt! Yah seen all bud Hareton's bit uf a cham'er. They's not another hoile tuh lig dahn in i' th' hahse!'
I was so vexed, I flung my tray and its contents on the ground; and then seated myself at the stairs-head, hid my face in my hands, and cried.
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`Ech! ech!' exclaimed Joseph. `Weel done, Miss Cathy! weel done, Miss Cathy! Hahsiver, t' maister saIl just tum'le o'er them brocken pots; un' then we's hear summut; we's hear hah it's tuh be. Gooid-for-nowt madling! yah desarve pining froo this to Churstmas, flinging t' precious gifts uh God under fooit i' yer flaysome rages! Bud Aw'm mista'en if yah shew yer sperrit lang. Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye? Aw nobbut wish he muh cotch ye i' that plisky. Aw nobbut wish he may.'