Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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he had perhaps been communicating his plans to his brother, and was pained by the manner in which they had been received.
he might have called at Mrs. Goddard's in his way.
she must say more before she were entitled to his clemency; but it was a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself in his opinion.
she would speak of something totally different— the children in Brunswick Square;
He was wishing to confide in her— perhaps to consult her;—cost her what it would, she would listen. She might assist his resolution, or reconcile him to it; she might give just praise to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence, relieve him from that state of indecision, which must be more intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as his.—
to see that Harriet's hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a delusion as any of her own— that Harriet was nothing; that she was every thing herself; that what she had been saying relative to Harriet had been all taken as the language of her own feelings; and that her agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been all received as discouragement from herself.—
to rejoice that Harriet's secret had not escaped her, and to resolve that it need not, and should not.—
It was all the service she could now render her poor friend; for as to any of that heroism of sentiment which might have prompted her to entreat him to transfer his affection from herself to Harriet, as infinitely the most worthy of the two—or even the more simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at once and for ever, without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not marry them both, Emma had it not.
She had led her friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her for ever;
how often it had been collected!—and how often had her eyes fallen on the same shrubs in the lawn, and observed the same beautiful effect of the western sun!
Her father—and Harriet. She could not be alone without feeling the full weight of their separate claims; and how to guard the comfort of both to the utmost, was the question.
She hardly knew yet what Mr. Knightley would ask;
never quitting her father.—
While he lived, it must be only an engagement; but
if divested of the danger of drawing her away, it might become an increase of comfort to him.—
How to do her best by Harriet, was of more difficult decision;—how to spare her from any unnecessary pain; how to make her any possible atonement; how to appear least her enemy?—
she would still avoid a meeting with her, and communicate all that need be told by letter;
it would be inexpressibly desirable to have her removed just now for a time from Highbury, and—
it might be practicable to get an invitation for her to Brunswick Square.—
Isabella had been pleased with Harriet; and a few weeks spent in London must give her some amusement.—
it in Harriet's nature to escape being benefited by novelty and variety, by the streets, the shops, and the children.—At any rate, it would be a proof of attention and kindness in herself, from whom every thing was due; a separation for the present; an averting of the evil day, when they must all be together again.
she wanted no explanations, she wanted only to have her thoughts to herself—and as for understanding any thing he wrote, she was sure she was incapable of it.—It must be waded through, however.
I owed Mrs. Elton gratitude for her attentions to Miss Fairfax.—
the child of good fortune.
he had been wrong, yet he had been less wrong than she had supposed—and he had suffered, and was very sorry—and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston, and so much in love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so happy herself, that there was no being severe; and could he have entered the room, she must have shaken hands with him as heartily as ever.
Mrs. Weston's wishing it to be communicated; especially to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so much to blame in his conduct.
But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the evening, and she must return it by him.
it,
Her own behaviour had been so very improper!
The child of good fortune!
all the affection it evinced.
in quitting Donwell, he must be sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours and habits;
in living constantly with her father, and in no house of his own, there would be much, very much, to be borne with.
She promised to think of it,
him to think of it more;
to think of it;
to think of it, with the intention of finding it a very good scheme.
This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing at Hartfield— the more she contemplated it, the more pleasing it became.
His evils seemed to lessen, her own advantages to increase, their mutual good to outweigh every drawback.
Such a companion for herself in the periods of anxiety and cheerlessness before her!—Such a partner in all those duties and cares to which time must be giving increase of melancholy!
but every blessing of her own seemed to involve and advance the sufferings of her friend, who must now be even excluded from Hartfield. The delightful family party which Emma was securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere charitable caution, be kept at a distance from. She would be a loser in every way. Emma could not deplore her future absence as any deduction from her own enjoyment. In such a party, Harriet would be rather a dead weight than otherwise; but for the poor girl herself, it seemed a peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be placing her in such a state of unmerited punishment.
In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten, that is, supplanted; but this could not be expected to happen very early. Mr. Knightley himself would be doing nothing to assist the cure;—not like Mr. Elton. Mr. Knightley, always so kind, so feeling, so truly considerate for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped than now; and it really was too much to hope even of Harriet, that she could be in love with more than three men in one year.
How much worse, had they been obliged to meet!
It might be only her own consciousness; but it seemed as if an angel only could have been quite without resentment under such a stroke.
There was a communication before her, one which she only could be competent to make— the confession of her engagement to her father;
to defer the disclosure till Mrs. Weston were safe and well. No additional agitation should be thrown at this period among those she loved—and the evil should not act on herself by anticipation before the appointed time.—A fortnight, at least, of leisure and peace of mind, to crown every warmer, but more agitating, delight, should be hers.
She ought to go—and she was longing to see her; the resemblance of their present situations increasing every other motive of goodwill. It would be a secret satisfaction; but the consciousness of a similarity of prospect would certainly add to the interest with which she should attend to any thing Jane might communicate.
to penetrate Mrs. Elton's thoughts, and understand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits; it was being in Miss Fairfax's confidence, and fancying herself acquainted with what was still a secret to other people.
there had been a little show of resentment towards Jane, from the vicarage quarter, which was now graciously overcome.—
it was very extraordinary, indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for him.