Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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going up with despatches,
for the original plan was that William should go up by the mail from Northampton the following night, which would not have allowed him an hour's rest before he must have got into a Portsmouth coach; and though this offer of Mr. Crawford's would rob her of many hours of his company, she was too happy in having William spared from the fatigue of such a journey,
To dance without much observation or any extraordinary fatigue, to have strength and partners for about half the evening, to dance a little with Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr. Crawford, to see William enjoy himself, and be able to keep away from her aunt Norris,
it had been about the same hour that she had returned from the Parsonage, and found Edmund in the East room.
he had soon ceased to think of her countenance. He did not appear in spirits: something unconnected with her was probably amiss.
The ball, too such an evening of pleasure before her!
those dearest tokens
Miss Crawford had a claim; and when it was no longer to encroach on, to interfere with the stronger claims, the truer kindness of another, she could do her justice even with pleasure to herself.
The necklace really looked very well;
very charming,
She looked all loveliness—and what might not be the end of it?
if Mr. Crawford had not asked her, she must have been the last to be sought after, and should have received a partner only through a series of inquiry, and bustle, and interference, which would have been terrible;
having a partner, a voluntary partner, secured against the dancing began.
she was to lead the way and open the ball;
that she hoped it might be settled otherwise;
To be placed above so many elegant young women! The distinction was too great. It was treating her like her cousins!
they were not at home to take their own place in the room, and have their share of a pleasure which would have been so very delightful to them.
So often as she had heard them wish for a ball at home as the greatest of all felicities! And to have them away when it was given—and for her to be opening the ball— and with Mr. Crawford too!
they would not envy her that distinction now
to what they had all been to each other when once dancing in that house before,
much rather not have been asked by him again so very soon,
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.
They were now a miserable trio, confined within doors by a series of rain and snow, with nothing to do and no variety to hope for.
His absence was unnecessarily long. He should not have planned such an absence —he should not have left home for a week, when her own departure from Mansfield was so near.
She wished she had not spoken so warmly in their last conversation. She was afraid she had used some strong, some contemptuous expressions in speaking of the clergy, and that should not have been. It was ill-bred; it was wrong. She wished such words unsaid with all her heart.
he had actually written home to defer his return, having promised to remain some days longer with his friend.
His friend Mr. Owen had sisters; he might find them attractive.
Had Henry returned, as he talked of doing, at the end of three or four days, she should now have been leaving Mansfield.
he had been sitting with Lady Bertram and Fanny.
Fanny's beauty of face and figure, Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart,
The gentleness, modesty, and sweetness of her character
Her temper he had good reason to depend on and to praise. He had often seen it tried. Was there one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way or other continually exercised her patience and forbearance? Her affections were evidently strong. To see her with her brother! What could more delightfully prove that the warmth of her heart was equal to its gentleness? What could be more encouraging to a man who had her love in view? Then, her understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and clear; and her manners were the mirror of her own modest and elegant mind.
her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity,
there could not be two persons in existence whose characters and manners were less accordant: time would discover it to him;
His last journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest he might have for getting him on. This had been his business. He had communicated it to no creature: he had not breathed a syllable of it even to Mary; while uncertain of the issue, he could not have borne any participation of his feelings, but this had been his business;
she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was to be placed to the account of his excessive and unequalled attachment to her,
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.
He had a note to deliver from his sister.
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.