Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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"Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not now make you unhappy; but I am afraid it gives you more pain than you expected. His situation is an evil—but you must consider it as what satisfies your friend; and I will answer for your thinking better and better of him as you know him more. His good sense and good principles would delight you.—As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend in better hands. His rank in society I would alter if I could, which is saying a great deal I assure you, Emma.—You laugh at me about William Larkins; but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin."
her to look up and smile;
"You ought to know your friend best,"
"but I should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be very, very determined against any young man who told her he loved her."
"Do you dare say this?"
"Do you dare to suppose me so great a blockhead, as not to know what a man is talking of?—What do you deserve?"
"I am quite sure,"
"that
he told me
she had accepted him;
and that there was no obscurity, nothing doubtful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that it must be so.
He asked my opinion as to
what he was now to do. He knew of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of her relations or friends. Could I mention any thing more fit to be done, than to go to Mrs. Goddard?
I assured him that I could not.
Then,
he said,
he would endeavour to see her in the course of this day."
"You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before."
"And I am changed also; for I am now very willing to grant you all Harriet's good qualities. I have taken some pains for your sake, and for Robert Martin's sake, (whom I have always had reason to believe as much in love with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have often talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes, indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor Martin's cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations, I am convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good notions, very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness in the affections and utility of domestic life.—Much of this, I have no doubt, she may thank you for."
"I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said."
"Is not she looking well?"
"Better than she ever used to do?—You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her."
"The shame,"
"is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?—I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none."
"That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near —and I wish I had— it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.—It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing."
"I have some hope,"
"of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.—But now, I am at such a distance from her— is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?—Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?"
"Ah! by the bye,"
"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?"
"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.—I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.—He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise."
his own Jane,
"Did you ever see such a skin?—such smoothness! such delicacy!—and yet without being actually fair.—One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair— a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.—Just colour enough for beauty."
"Oh! no— what an impudent dog I was!—How could I dare—"
"Oh! no, no, no— — how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!"
"True, true,"
"No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.—She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.—You will be glad to hear
that
my uncle means
I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?"
"How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!—I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come."
"Perry!"
"My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?—Has he been here this morning?—And how does he travel now?—Has he set up his carriage?"
"Such an extraordinary dream of mine!"
"I can never think of it without laughing.—She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye— that the whole blunder is spread before her— that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?"