"Oh, yeah, yeah, absolutely," he insisted, as if he had great knowledge. "At least, it says something along those lines inside the dust cover," he admitted, accepting the drink from her with a thank you. "It'll probably seem very quaint by today's standard, but you can see what you think," he agreed.
If he'd known she felt that way, he would have been saying something to assauge her need to impress. She has already grabbed his attention, he was already hooked, he didn't need anything more from her than for her just to be herself. And he would have argued that she had intellect, she had wit, he had seen that much himself already. He knew she did, even if she didn't believe it herself.
"It really is, isn't it?" he agreed, sitting down with her. "I'm glad you aren't in the strange group that seem to find it romantic, I can't figure that out. You want to call the cops if you've got a Heathcliff hanging around," he chuckled.
"You know, I read it when I was young and... I think it was exciting to me because I knew I shouldn't be reading it," he told her. "Um, my father was very strict, and involved in all sort of Christian shit, and- moral instruction- anyway, books were meant to offer that instruction, not seduce you with unashamedly dark material," he told her, leaning to her slightly as he explaned his interest in the novel.
"They're horrid, yes, but they're strangely compelling at the same time. Flawed and misguided. And I think it was the first time I came across the idea of a cyclical plot. This constant cycle of destruction, generation after generation, and every time they get the chance to break free from it, they don't. And that it doesn't even seem to matter, in the end. And... I'm going on and on," he laughed.