The evening had afforded Edmund little pleasure. Miss Crawford
had been in gay spirits when they first danced together,
but it was not her gaiety that could do him good:
it rather sank than raised his comfort; and afterwards,
for he found himself still impelled to seek her again,
she had absolutely pained him by her manner of speaking of the
profession to which he was now on the point of belonging.
They had talked, and they had been silent; he had reasoned,
she had ridiculed; and they had parted at last with
mutual vexation. Fanny, not able to refrain entirely from
observing them, had seen enough to be tolerably satisfied.
It was barbarous to be happy when Edmund was suffering.
Yet some happiness must and would arise from the very
conviction that he did suffer.
When her two dances with him were over, her inclination
and strength for more were pretty well at an end;
and Sir Thomas, having seen her walk rather than dance
down the shortening set, breathless, and with her hand at
her side, gave his orders for her sitting down entirely.
From that time Mr. Crawford sat down likewise.
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