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It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
“That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
“An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”
There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”
“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
“From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
She must own that she was tired of seeing great houses; after going over so many, she really had no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.
“My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak, as to be in danger now?” “I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with you as ever.”
“You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”