Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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she had not been obliged to suspect that his previous inquiries of Mrs. Norris, about the supper hour, were all for the sake of securing her at that part of the evening.
But it was not to be avoided: he made her feel that she was the object of all; though she could not say that it was unpleasantly done, that there was indelicacy or ostentation in his manner; and sometimes, when he talked of William, he was really not unagreeable, and shewed even a warmth of heart which did him credit.
It was barbarous to be happy when Edmund was suffering.
a ball was indeed delightful.
as if she had wasted half his visit in idle cares and selfish solicitudes unconnected with him.
the difference which twenty-four hours had made in that room, and all that part of the house. Last night it had been hope and smiles, bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy, in the drawing-room, and out of the drawing-room, and everywhere. Now it was languor, and all but solitude.
They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever known there for a whole day together, and he was gone on whom the comfort and cheerfulness of every family meeting and every meal chiefly depended. But this must be learned to be endured. He would soon be always gone; and she was thankful that she could now sit in the same room with her uncle, hear his voice, receive his questions, and even answer them, without such wretched feelings as she had formerly known.
all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour;
she could not but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, and in such a way as she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before;
It was all beyond belief! He was inexcusable, incomprehensible! But such were his habits that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil. He had previously made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted— she knew not what to say, how to class, or how to regard it. She would not have him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words and offers, if they meant but to trifle?
But William was a lieutenant. That was a fact beyond a doubt, and without an alloy. She would think of it for ever and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never address her so again: he must have seen how unwelcome it was to her; and in that case, how gratefully she could esteem him for his friendship to William!
though he might think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite distressing to her to see him again so soon.
it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and even to appear to believe it serious.
There was everything in the world against their being serious but his words and manner. Everything natural, probable, reasonable, was against it; all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits.
How could she have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him; who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points; who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him? And farther, how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter? Nothing could be more unnatural in either.
Everything might be possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her.
no more than what he might often have expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women.
wishing not to appear to think anything really intended,
she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day; for every day would restore the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more.
She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement; but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.
If Mr. Crawford would but go away!
go and take his sister with him, as he was to do, and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it was not done already she could not devise, for Miss Crawford certainly wanted no delay.
His coming might have nothing to do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible;
there to remain, during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for;
Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.
she did feel almost ashamed of herself, after such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr. Crawford.
She would rather die than own the truth;
Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought her all this. She had deceived his expectations; she had lost his good opinion. What was to become of her?
miserable
The past, present, future, everything was terrible.
Selfish and ungrateful! to have appeared so to him! She was miserable for ever. She had no one to take her part, to counsel, or speak for her. Her only friend was absent. He might have softened his father; but all, perhaps all, would think her selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endure the reproach again and again; she might hear it, or see it, or know it to exist for ever in every connexion about her.
yet, if he really loved her, and were unhappy too! It was all wretchedness together.
To be spared from her aunt Norris's interminable reproaches!
Anything might be bearable rather than such reproaches. Even to see Mr. Crawford would be less overpowering.
to prove to him that she did desire his comfort, and sought to regain his favour;
Not to excite suspicion by her look or manner was now an object worth attaining; and she felt equal to almost anything that might save her from her aunt Norris.
A fire! it seemed too much;
Sir Thomas could have leisure to think of such a trifle again;
he did not mean there should be any change, and
it was only her own conscience that could fancy any;
all the reason she had to bless the kindness which saved her from the same spirit of reproach, exerted on a more momentous subject.
she had done right:
her judgment had not misled her. For the purity of her intentions she could answer;
her uncle's displeasure was abating, and would abate farther as he considered the matter with more impartiality, and felt, as a good man must feel, how wretched, and how unpardonable, how hopeless, and how wicked it was to marry without affection.
When the meeting with which she was threatened for the morrow was past, she could not but flatter herself that the subject would be finally concluded, and Mr. Crawford once gone from Mansfield,
everything would soon be as if no such subject had existed. She would not, could not believe, that Mr. Crawford's affection for her could distress him long; his mind was not of that sort. London would soon bring its cure. In London he would soon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be thankful for the right reason in her which had saved him from its evil consequences.
how he could, after such language from her as she felt herself obliged to use, was not to be understood.
she did not love him, could not love him, was sure she never should love him;
such a change was quite impossible;
the subject was most painful to her;