Грозовой перевал / Wuthering Heights

I soon discovered that all the books belonged to the same girl. They were a collection of schoolbooks, histories and sermons, most of them very dull. I was just dropping off to sleep again when I noticed a note scribbled in a margin[6 - scribbled in a margin – нацарапанное на полях]…

«I wish my father was still alive. Hindley is so cruel to us. He makes H. work in the fields all day and never allows us to play together. H. and I are going to rebel. We will take our first steps tomorrow…»

But then the writing ended and I dozed off again, dreaming of a swarm of Catherines – Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Linton, Catherine Heathcliff – all jumbled up together, until my head was spinning.

Finally, I managed to drag myself into bed. But just as I was drifting off to sleep I became aware of a loud, insistent noise. Somewhere outside, a branch was knocking against the window, scratching and thumping in time to the wailing of the wind.

Eventually, I could bear it no longer.

I climbed out of bed, determined to break off the branch and put an end to the noise. But when I tried to open the window, I found that it had been sealed tightly shut[7 - sealed tightly shut – плотно закрыто]. By this time, I was so desperate to stop the knocking that I pushed my knuckles right through the glass. Then I stretched out my hand, ready to grasp the branch… but instead my fingers closed on a small, ice-cold hand!

I tried to pull back, but the icy fingers tightened their grip[8 - tightened their grip – вцепились еще сильнее], and I heard a melancholy voice moaning,

«Let me in – let me in!»

«Who are you?» I shouted, struggling to be free[9 - struggling to be free – пытаясь освободиться].

«Catherine Linton,» the shivery voice replied. «I’ve come home. I lost my way on the moor, but now I’ve come home.»

I peered out into the snow and saw, very faintly, the outline of a young girl’s face, staring back at me!

Terror made me cruel, and finding it impossible to shake off the creature’s hand, I rubbed the delicate wrist across the broken glass, until the ledge was covered in blood.

But still the hand kept its grip, driving me mad with fear, while the voice continued to wail, В«Let me in!В»

«How can I let you in,» I said grimly, «if you hold my hand so tightly? You’ll have to let me go if you want to come in.