180 wordsabout 1 minute
1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist’s Heaven—and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.
“Mr. Heathcliff?” I said.
A nod was the answer.
“Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts—” “Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,” he interrupted, wincing.Your guesses will appear here as you submit them.
CorrectClose — decade within ±10 years, or same literary tradition for nationalityNot close — the dropdowns show a curated shortlist; type to search the full catalog of authors and works
Type freely or pick from the dropdown — any guess submits, even partial.
Author and title only score green or gray; only decade and nationality have a yellow “close” state.