British Accent Shadowing | Wuthering Heights | RP Pronunciation Practice – Part 1

Hello and welcome to British Accent Shadowing — where we practise RP pronunciation,

intonation, and rhythm using some of the greatest works of English literature.

My name is Ashley Howard and I’m a voice coach with over 18 years’ experience.

In this episode, we’ll explore a vivid and poetic passage from Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë — a

timeless novel known for its emotional intensity and richly expressive language.

First, I’ll read the passage aloud in standard southern British English — also

known as Received Pronunciation — so you can hear how it flows. Then we’ll go through it

line by line for you to shadow and practise. And finally, we’ll read it together at natural speed.

This is perfect for learners of British English, voice and acting students,

and lovers of classic literature who want to improve their spoken English.

There's also a free PDF download with the full text and vocabulary notes in

the description below. Let’s begin.

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.

“I should not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it — walk in!”

The “walk in” was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, “Go to the Deuce!”

Even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to the

words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation:

I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.

When he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his

hand to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the causeway, calling,

as we entered the court — “Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse; and bring up some wine.”

“Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose,” was the