Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels


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he could not leave his father and mother just when everybody else of most importance to their comfort was leaving them;
its fixing his happiness for ever.
She knew so much already, that she must know everything.
it to be the last time in which Miss Crawford's name would ever be mentioned between them with any remains of liberty.
That a letter from Edmund should be a subject of terror!
enough to make the little cottage comfortable, in which he and Fanny were to pass all their middle and later life together.
his sister's feelings should be so cold towards a man whom he must consider as the first of human characters;
When no longer under the same roof with Edmund, she trusted that Miss Crawford would have no motive for writing strong enough to overcome the trouble, and
at Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindle into nothing.
Would they but love her, she should be satisfied.
everything was always for the best;
to go and change his dress, and make the necessary preparations for his removal on board directly, that he might have his tea in comfort afterwards.
She was at home. But, alas! it was not such a home, she had not such a welcome, as—
she was unreasonable. What right had she to be of importance to her family? She could have none, so long lost sight of! William's concerns must be dearest, they always had been, and he had every right. Yet to have so little said or asked about herself, to have scarcely an inquiry made after Mansfield! It did pain her to have Mansfield forgotten; the friends who had done so much —the dear, dear friends! But here, one subject swallowed up all the rest. Perhaps it must be so. The destination of the Thrush must be now preeminently interesting. A day or two might shew the difference. She only was to blame. Yet
it would not have been so at Mansfield. No, in her uncle's house there would have been a consideration of times and seasons, a regulation of subject, a propriety, an attention towards everybody which there was not here.
it as a proof of anything more than their being for the time thoroughly fagged,
she should be very glad of a little tea,
Susan had an open, sensible countenance; she was like William,
being on shore some part of every day before they sailed, and even of getting her to Spithead to see the sloop.
her mother meant to part with her when her year was up.
William was gone: and the home he had left her in was,
in almost every respect the very reverse of what she could have wished. It was the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety. Nobody was in their right place, nothing was done as it ought to be.
It was the greatest misery of all. At Mansfield, no sounds of contention, no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, no tread of violence, was ever heard; all proceeded in a regular course of cheerful orderliness; everybody had their due importance; everybody's feelings were consulted. If tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good sense and good breeding supplied its place; and as to the little irritations sometimes introduced by aunt Norris, they were short, they were trifling, they were as a drop of water to the ocean, compared with the ceaseless tumult of her present abode. Here everybody was noisy, every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her mother's, which resembled the soft monotony of Lady Bertram's, only worn into fretfulness). Whatever was wanted was hallooed for, and the servants hallooed out their excuses from the kitchen. The doors were in constant banging, the stairs were never at rest, nothing was done without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody could command attention when they spoke.
though Mansfield Park might have some pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures.
Susan tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and cried; and that Susan was useful
that things, bad as they were, would have been worse but for such interposition, and that both her mother and Betsey were restrained from some excesses of very offensive indulgence and vulgarity.
In every argument with her mother, Susan had in point of reason the advantage, and never was there any maternal tenderness to buy her off. The blind fondness which was for ever producing evil around her she had never known. There was no gratitude for affection past or present to make her better bear with its excesses to the others.
That her manner was wrong, however, at times very wrong, her measures often ill-chosen and ill-timed, and her looks and language very often indefensible,
her sister's judgment had been against her, and
a reproof was designed her for having so struggled as to make the purchase necessary for the tranquillity of the house.
so much better knowledge, so many good notions should have been hers at all; and that, brought up in the midst of negligence and error, she should have formed such proper opinions of what ought to be; she, who had had no cousin Edmund to direct her thoughts or fix her principles.
to be a renter, a chuser of books! And to be having any one's improvement in view in her choice!
if reading could banish the idea for even half an hour, it was something gained.
Either his going had been again delayed, or he had yet procured no opportunity of seeing Miss Crawford alone, or he was too happy for letter-writing!
she could not regret it;
She was ashamed, and she would have been yet more ashamed of her father than of all the rest.
He had reached it late the night before, was come for a day or two, was staying at the Crown, had accidentally met with a navy officer or two of his acquaintance since his arrival,
he had spent half an hour with his sister the evening before his leaving London;
she had sent her best and kindest love, but had had no time for writing;
he thought himself lucky in seeing Mary for even half an hour, having spent scarcely twenty-four hours in London, after his return from Norfolk, before he set off again;
her cousin Edmund was in town, had been in town, he understood, a few days;
he had not seen him himself, but
he was well, had left them all well at Mansfield, and was to dine, as yesterday, with the Frasers.
He must be ashamed and disgusted altogether. He must soon give her up, and cease to have the smallest inclination for the match;
if the Miss Prices were not afraid of the fatigue;
It had been real business, relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large and— he believed —industrious family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing; of meaning to bias him against the deserving; and he had determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and was now able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel that in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; he had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him.
here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and the oppressed!
his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Everingham: a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it a dearer object than it had ever been yet.
he might have more good qualities than she had been wont to suppose.
but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, and ought not to think of her.