Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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had never heard the harp at all, and wished for it very much.
he could spend so many hours with Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of fault which he had already observed, and of which she was almost always reminded by a something of the same nature whenever she was in her company; but so it was. Edmund was fond of speaking to her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think it enough that the Admiral had since been spared;
Edmund should forget her
what could be more natural than that Edmund should be making himself useful, and proving his good-nature by any one?
She could not but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved him the trouble;
it would have been particularly proper and becoming in a brother to have done it himself; but Mr. Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature, and all his coachmanship, probably knew nothing of the matter, and had no active kindness in comparison of Edmund.
to think it rather hard upon the mare to have such double duty; if she were forgotten, the poor mare should be remembered.
she was on the sofa.
it was not very bad.
she was rested,
she had not seen Mr. Rushworth.
she had seen anything of Miss Crawford and Edmund.
she must have been mistaken,
think differently in future;
would she have been not to be obliged to listen,
most unwillingly,
she did not wish to dance.
it could be chosen in the present instance, that it could be proposed and accepted in a private theatre!
the situation of one, and the language of the other, so unfit to be expressed by any woman of modesty,
her cousins could be aware of what they were engaging in;
longed to have them roused as soon as possible by the remonstrance which Edmund would certainly make.
Miss Crawford had protected her only for the time; and if she were applied to again among themselves with all the authoritative urgency that Tom and Maria were capable of, and Edmund perhaps away, what should she do?
Everything was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a friend; and though there had been sometimes much of suffering to her; though her motives had often been misunderstood, her feelings disregarded, and her comprehension undervalued; though she had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost every recurrence of either had led to something consolatory:
her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encouraging, or, what was yet more frequent or more dear, Edmund had been her champion and her friend: he had supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had told her not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made her tears delightful; and the whole was now so blended together, so harmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its charm.
Was she right in refusing what was so warmly asked, so strongly wished for— what might be so essential to a scheme on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest complaisance had set their hearts? Was it not ill-nature, selfishness, and a fear of exposing herself? And would Edmund's judgment, would his persuasion of Sir Thomas's disapprobation of the whole, be enough to justify her in a determined denial in spite of all the rest?
To be acting! After all his objections— objections so just and so public! After all that she had heard him say, and seen him look, and known him to be feeling. Could it be possible? Edmund so inconsistent! Was he not deceiving himself? Was he not wrong? Alas! it was all Miss Crawford's doing.
Things should take their course; she cared not how it ended. Her cousins might attack, but could hardly tease her. She was beyond their reach; and if at last obliged to yield— no matter —it was all misery now.
for it was Miss Crawford to whom she was obliged— it was Miss Crawford whose kind exertions were to excite her gratitude, and whose merit in making them was spoken of with a glow of admiration. She was safe; but peace and safety were unconnected here.
anything would have been preferable to this. Mrs. Grant was of consequence: her good-nature had honourable mention; her taste and her time were considered; her presence was wanted; she was sought for, and attended, and praised;
she received even the greatest,
she could never have been easy in joining a scheme which, considering only her uncle, she must condemn altogether.
Everybody had a part either too long or too short; nobody would attend as they ought; nobody would remember on which side they were to come in; nobody but the complainer would observe any directions.
she could not, would not, dared not attempt it:
to believe their performance would, indeed, have such nature and feeling in it as must ensure their credit, and make it a very suffering exhibition to herself.
Whatever might be its effect, however, she must stand the brunt of it again that very day.
Why was not Miss Crawford to be applied to as well? Or why had not she rather gone to her own room, as she had felt to be safest, instead of attending the rehearsal at all? She had known it would irritate and distress her; she had known it her duty to keep away. She was properly punished.
She would do her best.
He had never been so kind, so very kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed, his voice was quick from the agitation of joy; and all that had been awful in his dignity seemed lost in tenderness.
her wishing very much to hear it,
her having never yet heard it since its being in Mansfield.
he did mean to go with her. He too was taking leave.
for what was it after all whether she went or staid? but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, and with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly submissive and indifferent.
she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her,
she was endeavouring to put her aunt's evening work in such a state as to prevent her being missed.
she had never played the game nor seen it played in her life;
what it would be not to see Edmund every day;
"how she should be dressed"
the almost solitary ornament in her possession, a very pretty amber cross which William had brought her from Sicily,
for she had nothing but a bit of ribbon to fasten it to; and though she had worn it in that manner once, would it be allowable at such a time in the midst of all the rich ornaments which she supposed all the other young ladies would appear in? And yet not to wear it! William had wanted to buy her a gold chain too, but the purchase had been beyond his means, and therefore not to wear the cross might be mortifying him.
if she would be so kind as to give her opinion, it might be all talked over as well without doors as within.