Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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“I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield any more.”
“No, nothing at all.”
“It was a subject which they could not mention before me.”
“If you were aware,”
“of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner — nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the affair.”
“Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not of particular, but of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia's character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family ridiculous; a flirt too, in the worst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond youth and a tolerable person; and, from the ignorance and emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh! my dear father, can you suppose it possible that they will not be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in the disgrace?”
“Nearly three weeks.”
“Yes, almost every day.”
“Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves upon acquaintance.”
“Oh, no!”
“In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was.”
“When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that either his mind or his manners were in a state of improvement, but that, from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood.”
“But it is fortunate,”
“that I have something to wish for. Were the whole arrangement complete, my disappointment would be certain. But here, by carrying with me one ceaseless source of regret in my sister's absence, I may reasonably hope to have all my expectations of pleasure realised. A scheme of which every part promises delight can never be successful; and general disappointment is only warded off by the defence of some little peculiar vexation.”
“But surely,”
“I may enter his county with impunity, and rob it of a few petrified spars without his perceiving me.”
“And of this place,”
“I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. But no,”
that could never be; my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me; I should not have been allowed to invite them.”
“A little.”
“Yes, very handsome.”
“Except,
"when she goes to Ramsgate.”
“It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so.”
“Can this be Mr. Darcy?”
“In what an amiable light does this place him!”
“Perhaps we might be deceived.”
“He is certainly a good brother,”
“What will be his surprise,"
"when he knows who they are? He takes them now for people of fashion.”
“Why is he so altered? From what can it proceed? It cannot be for me — it cannot be for my sake that his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this. It is impossible that he should still love me.”
“Oh! where, where is my uncle?”
“I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose.”
“No, I thank you,”
“There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”
“I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger sister has left all her friends — has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of — of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to — she is lost for ever.”
“When I consider,”
“that I might have prevented it !— I who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only — some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all — all too late now.”
“Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland.”
“My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. But nothing can be done — I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!”
“When my eyes were opened to his real character — Oh! had I known what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not — I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!”
“Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible, I know it cannot be long.”
“Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement. That is all settled.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Not, perhaps, of neglecting his own interest; but of every other neglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland if that had been the case?”
“Oh! but their removing from the chaise into a hackney coach is such a presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the Barnet road.”
“But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their marriage be private? Oh! no, no — this is not likely. His most particular friend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia — what attraction has she beyond youth, health, and good humour that could make him, for her sake, forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what restraint the apprehensions of disgrace in the corps might throw on a dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I know nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father's behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that he would do as little, and think as little about it, as any father could do, in such a matter.”
“It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed,” replied Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, “that a sister's sense of decency and virtue in such a point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what to say. Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young; she has never been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half-year, nay, for a twelvemonth — she has been given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way. Since the ——shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation, and officers have been in her head. She has been doing everything in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater — what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which are naturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of person and address that can captivate a woman.”
“Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be their former conduct, that she would think capable of such an attempt, till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every sense of the word; that he has neither integrity nor honour; that he is as false and deceitful as he is insinuating.”
“I do indeed,”