But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before.
"
Every line, every word was -- in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here, would forbid -- a dagger to my heart. To know that Mar...
"
Eleanor went to her room "where she was free to think and be wretched.
"
What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering. For weeks, Marianne, I've had this pressing on me without being at ...
"
She felt the loss of Willoughby's character yet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart.
