1 You know his hand, I dare say, a charming one it is; but that is not written so well as usual.
2 The letter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit of friendly accommodation.
3 Why Mr. Ferrars was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not immediately comprehend.
4 But if she DID, the letter was written and sent away with a privacy which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact.
5 One day's delay will not be very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought not to be mentioned to any body else.
6 He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole of his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her nearer connections.
7 Mrs. Jennings laughed again, but Elinor had not spirits to say more, and eager at all events to know what Willoughby had written, hurried away to their room, where, on opening the door, she saw Marianne stretched on the bed, almost choked by grief, one letter in her hand, and two or three others laying by her.
8 She played over every favourite song that she had been used to play to Willoughby, every air in which their voices had been oftenest joined, and sat at the instrument gazing on every line of music that he had written out for her, till her heart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be gained; and this nourishment of grief was every day applied.