Wuthering Heights1939

Heathcliff:
You're not gonna sit all evening, simpering in front of him again, listening to his silly talk.

Cathy:
Oh I'm not?

Heathcliff:
No.

Cathy:
Well Heathcliff I am. It's much more entertaining than listening to a stable boy.

Heathcliff:
Cathy. Don't you talk like that.

Cathy:
I will. Go away. This is my room. It's a ladies room. Not a room for servants with dirty hands to come into with their insulting complaints. Now let me alone.

Heathcliff:
Yes. Yes. Tell the dirty stable boy to let go of you. He soiled your pretty dress. But who soiled your heart? Not Heathcliff. Who turns you into a vain, cheap, worldly fool? Linton does. You'll never love him, but you'll let yourself be loved because it pleases your stupid, greedy vanity. Loved by that milksop with buckles on his shoes...

Cathy:
Stop it. Stop it and get out. You had your chance to be something else. The people's servant were all you were born to be, a beggar in the center of the road, begging for favors, not earning them but whimpering for them with your dirty hands.

Heathcliff:
That's all I've become to you. A pair of dirty hands. Well, have them then. Have them where they belong! [He strikes her across the face with one hand, and then with the other] It doesn't help to strike you.