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Sense and Sensibility PDF
Sense and Sensibility PDF
Sense and Sensibility PDF
By Jane Austen
B arton Park was about half a mile from the cottage. The
ladies had passed near it in their way along the valley,
but it was screened from their view at home by the pro-
jection of a hill. The house was large and handsome; and
the Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitality and el-
egance. The former was for Sir John’s gratification, the latter
for that of his lady. They were scarcely ever without some
friends staying with them in the house, and they kept more
company of every kind than any other family in the neigh-
bourhood. It was necessary to the happiness of both; for
however dissimilar in temper and outward behaviour, they
strongly resembled each other in that total want of talent
and taste which confined their employments, unconnected
with such as society produced, within a very narrow com-
pass. Sir John was a sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother.
He hunted and shot, and she humoured her children; and
these were their only resources. Lady Middleton had the
advantage of being able to spoil her children all the year
round, while Sir John’s independent employments were
in existence only half the time. Continual engagements at
home and abroad, however, supplied all the deficiencies
of nature and education; supported the good spirits of Sir
John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his wife.
Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her
B efore the house-maid had lit their fire the next day, or
the sun gained any power over a cold, gloomy morn-
ing in January, Marianne, only half dressed, was kneeling
against one of the window-seats for the sake of all the little
light she could command from it, and writing as fast as a
continual flow of tears would permit her. In this situation,
Elinor, roused from sleep by her agitation and sobs, first
perceived her; and after observing her for a few moments
with silent anxiety, said, in a tone of the most considerate
gentleness,
‘Marianne, may I ask-?’
‘No, Elinor,’ she replied, ‘ask nothing; you will soon
know all.’
The sort of desperate calmness with which this was said,
lasted no longer than while she spoke, and was immediately
followed by a return of the same excessive affliction. It was
some minutes before she could go on with her letter, and the
frequent bursts of grief which still obliged her, at intervals,
to withhold her pen, were proofs enough of her feeling how
more than probable it was that she was writing for the last
time to Willoughby.
Elinor paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in
her power; and she would have tried to sooth and tranquil-
ize her still more, had not Marianne entreated her, with all
‘JOHN WILLOUGHBY.’
With what indignation such a letter as this must be
read by Miss Dashwood, may be imagined. Though aware,
before she began it, that it must bring a confession of his
inconstancy, and confirm their separation for ever, she was
not aware that such language could be suffered to announce
it; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable of de-
parting so far from the appearance of every honourable
E linor, for some time after he left her, for some time even
after the sound of his carriage had died away, remained
too much oppressed by a crowd of ideas, widely differing in
themselves, but of which sadness was the general result, to
think even of her sister.
Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had ab-
horred as the most worthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of
all his faults, excited a degree of commiseration for the suf-
ferings produced by them, which made her think of him as
now separated for ever from her family, with a tenderness,
a regret, rather in proportion, as she soon acknowledged
within herself—to his wishes than to his merits. She felt
that his influence over her mind was heightened by circum-
stances which ought not in reason to have weight; by that
person of uncommon attraction, that open, affectionate,
and lively manner which it was no merit to possess; and by
that still ardent love for Marianne, which it was not even
innocent to indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long
before she could feel his influence less.
When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne,
she found her just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet
a sleep to the extent of her hopes. Elinor’s heart was full. The
past, the present, the future, Willoughby’s visit, Marianne’s
safety, and her mother’s expected arrival, threw her altogeth-
‘DEAR SIR,
THE END