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296 pages, Paperback
First published September 25, 2015
As Lydia’s waste was carried downstream, joining the volume from each night prior, Elizabeth wondered how much of her sister was disappearing with each wave.
Elizabeth had never been more jealous of Jane—not because she was getting attention from a man, but because Elizabeth had forgotten what it was to be sure of anything.
Elizabeth had never thought much about Maria. She was Kitty and Lydia’s friend, and she had relegated her to the “silly girl who must be tolerated” area of her mind. She was ashamed of herself for being so prejudiced and dismissive of another person. She began to search herself for other ways in which she was like her father. She, too, had some things to conquer.
He spoke in the tone he always used with his wife and younger daughters: one that was a strange combination of anguish and amusement, as if he could not decide between the two and so united them into one peculiar feeling that Elizabeth once interpreted as exasperation. She now only heard weakness.
He tugged her arm and they were off again. He did not release her but led her further into the trees where the path was less worn. The sun had not dried the ground there, and mud splashed around them. There was no convention in their actions. No propriety or societal expectation followed them as they moved deeper into the trees. They had escaped.
“In truth, the opinions she formed of them, in general, were influenced as much by books as by actual experience. She grouped all the ones she knew into two categories: heroes and villains. And in her naiveté, she never realized the lines between the two could be fluid.”