Austen Said:

The comfort, the freedom, the gaiety of the room was over, hushed into cold composure, determined silence, or insipid talk, to meet the heartless elegance of her father and sister.

whether Captain Wentworth would come or not?

she had been seen with Mr Elliot three hours after his being supposed to be out of Bath,

the consciousness of having, by some complication of mutual trick, or some overbearing authority of his, been obliged to attend (perhaps for half an hour) to his lectures and restrictions on her designs on Sir Walter.

the gentlemen might each be too much self-occupied to hear.

their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves,

While supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been also addressing her! On the contents of that letter depended all which this world could do for her.

This was dreadful.

Would they only have gone away, and left her in the quiet possession of that room it would have been her cure; but to have them all standing or waiting around her was distracting,

she would go home.

Worse than all!

It could not be very lasting, however. Even if he did not come to Camden Place himself, it would be in her power to send an intelligible sentence by Captain Harville.

having loved none but her. She had never been supplanted. He never even believed himself to see her equal.

that he had been constant unconsciously, nay unintentionally; that he had meant to forget her, and believed it to be done. He had imagined himself indifferent, when he had only been angry; and he had been unjust to her merits, because he had been a sufferer from them. Her character was now fixed on his mind as perfection itself, maintaining the loveliest medium of fortitude and gentleness; but he was obliged to acknowledge that only at Uppercross had he learnt to do her justice, and only at Lyme had he begun to understand himself.

he had for ever felt it to be impossible;

he had not cared, could not care, for Louisa; though till that day, till the leisure for reflection which followed it, he had not understood the perfect excellence of the mind with which Louisa's could so ill bear a comparison, or the perfect unrivalled hold it possessed over his own. There, he had learnt to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will, between the darings of heedlessness and the resolution of a collected mind. There he had seen everything to exalt in his estimation the woman he had lost; and there begun to deplore the pride, the folly, the madness of resentment, which had kept him from trying to regain her when thrown in his way.

From that period his penance had become severe. He had no sooner been free from the horror and remorse attending the first few days of Louisa's accident, no sooner begun to feel himself alive again, than he had begun to feel himself, though alive, not at liberty.

He found too late, in short, that he had entangled himself; and that precisely as he became fully satisfied of his not caring for Louisa at all, he must regard himself as bound to her, if her sentiments for him were what the Harvilles supposed. It determined him to leave Lyme, and await her complete recovery elsewhere. He would gladly weaken, by any fair means, whatever feelings or speculations concerning him might exist; and he went, therefore, to his brother's, meaning after a while to return to Kellynch, and act as circumstances might require.

He had remained in Shropshire, lamenting the blindness of his own pride, and the blunders of his own calculations, till at once released from Louisa by the astonishing and felicitous intelligence of her engagement with Benwick.

she should like it,

not bear it;

“strange.”

he indulged himself a little too much with the foibles of others.

her eldest brother had lately formed an intimacy with a young man of his own college, of the name of Thorpe;

he had spent the last week of the Christmas vacation with his family, near London.

of their wish of being better acquainted with her; of being considered as already friends, through the friendship of their brothers, etc.,

He must be gone from Bath. Yet he had not mentioned that his stay would be so short!

he must be a charming young man, and was equally sure that he must have been delighted with her dear Catherine, and would therefore shortly return.

she need not be longer uneasy, as the gentlemen had just left the pump-room.

how they did,

they both looked very ugly.

John thought her the most charming girl in the world,

nothing,

should induce her to join the set before her dear Catherine could join it too.

he had quitted it for a week, on the very morning after his having had the pleasure of seeing her.

how well the other liked Bath, how much she admired its buildings and surrounding country, whether she drew, or played, or sang, and whether she was fond of riding on horseback.

to remain in the same place and the same employment till the clock struck one;

seeing Miss Tilney again could at that moment bear a short delay in favour of a drive,

there could be no impropriety in her going with Mr. Thorpe, as Isabella was going at the same time with James,

the spirit and freedom with which his horse moved along, and the ease which his paces, as well as the excellence of the springs, gave the motion of the carriage.

he must know the carriage to be in fact perfectly safe,

horses which he had bought for a trifle and sold for incredible sums;

racing matches, in which his judgment had infallibly foretold the winner;

shooting parties, in which he had killed more birds (though without having one good shot) than all his companions together;

some famous day’s sport, with the fox-hounds, in which his foresight and skill in directing the dogs had repaired the mistakes of the most experienced huntsman, and in which the boldness of his riding,

though it had never endangered his own life for a moment,

had been constantly leading others into difficulties,

had broken the necks of many.

It was inconceivable, incredible, impossible!

no two hours and a half had ever gone off so swiftly before,