Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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He feared there must be some decided involvement. Disingenuousness and double dealing
at every turn. These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick. It was a child's play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's part.
he must —yes, he certainly must, as a friend— an anxious friend— give Emma some hint, ask her some question. He could not see her in a situation of such danger, without trying to preserve her. It was his duty.
Interference— fruitless interference.
Yet he would speak. He owed it to her, to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference, rather than her welfare; to encounter any thing, rather than the remembrance of neglect in such a cause.
Two or three more of the chosen only were to be admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending, elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the Eltons and the Sucklings.
an arrangement which would probably expose her even to the degradation of being said to be of Mrs. Elton's party!
Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two spent at Donwell, be tempted away to his misery.
he should be glad to see him;
It was just what it ought to be, and it looked what it was—
as the residence of a family of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding.—Some faults of temper John Knightley had; but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given them neither men, nor names, nor places, that could raise a blush.
she would not at present engage in any thing,
How Jane could bear it at all,
Mr. Knightley and Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way.
Mr. Knightley and Harriet!—
It was an odd tete-a-tete; but she was glad to see it.—There had been a time when he would have scorned her as a companion, and turned from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant conversation.
It was too old a story.—Robert Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet.—
Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in quest of.
He had been detained by a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had lasted some hours—and he had quite given up every thought of coming, till very late;—and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never suffered any thing like it— almost wished he had staid at home— nothing killed him like heat— he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was intolerable—
Some people were always cross when they were hot.
his taking some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing in the dining-room—
her acceptance;
While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet should be dull likewise; and they were both insufferable.
Would not Harriet be the very creature described? Hazle eyes excepted, two years more might make her all that he wished. He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment; who could say? Referring the education to her seemed to imply it.
Such another scheme, composed of so many ill-assorted people, she hoped never to be betrayed into again.
How could she have been so brutal, so cruel to Miss Bates! How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in any one she valued! And how suffer him to leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness!
it was a morning more completely misspent, more totally bare of rational satisfaction at the time, and more to be abhorred in recollection, than any she had ever passed. A whole evening of back-gammon with her father, was felicity to it. There, indeed, lay real pleasure, for there she was giving up the sweetest hours of the twenty-four to his comfort;
As a daughter, she hoped she was not without a heart. She hoped no one could have said to her, "How could you be so unfeeling to your father?—I must, I will tell you truths while I can." Miss Bates should never again— no, never! If attention, in future, could do away the past, she might hope to be forgiven. She had been often remiss,
remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact; scornful, ungracious. But it should be so no more. In the warmth of true contrition, she would call upon her the very next morning, and it should be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal, kindly intercourse.
It was not unlikely,
that she might see Mr. Knightley in her way; or, perhaps, he might come in while she were paying her visit. She had no objection. She would not be ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly and truly hers.
wishing that the circumstances which she collected from Miss Bates to be now actually determined on, might be as much for Miss Fairfax's advantage and comfort as possible.
The contrast between Mrs. Churchill's importance in the world, and Jane Fairfax's,
one was every thing, the other nothing—
Time, however,
would tell him that they ought to be friends again.
He would have judged better,
if he had not stopped.—
nothing became him more.—It was with him, of so simple, yet so dignified a nature.—
It spoke such perfect amity.—
she wished she had left her ten minutes earlier;—it would have been a great pleasure to talk over Jane Fairfax's situation with Mr. Knightley.—
but it might have happened at a better time—and to have had longer notice of it, would have been pleasanter.—
It was a pity that she had not come back earlier!
how Frank might be affected by the event, how benefited, how freed.
Now, an attachment to Harriet Smith would have nothing to encounter. Mr. Churchill, independent of his wife, was feared by nobody; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded into any thing by his nephew. All that remained to be wished was, that the nephew should form the attachment,
Mr. Churchill was better than could be expected; and their first removal, on the departure of the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very old friend in Windsor, to whom Mr. Churchill had been promising a visit the last ten years.
to be of use to her;
to shew a value for her society, and testify respect and consideration.
to prevail on her to spend a day at Hartfield.
To take her —be it only an hour or two —from her aunt, to give her change of air and scene, and quiet rational conversation, even for an hour or two, might do her good;