You know I have a pretty good spirit of my own.

Anne Mitchell had tried to put on a turban like mine, as I wore it the week before at the concert, but made wretched work of it--it happened to become my odd face, I believe, at least Tilney told me so at the time, and said every eye was upon me; but he is the last man whose word I would take.

I wear nothing but purple now: I know I look hideous in it, but no matter--it is your dear brother's favourite colour.

Lose no time, my dearest, sweetest Catherine, in writing to him and to me, Who ever am, etc.
Such a strain of shallow artifice could not impose even upon Catherine.
Its inconsistencies, contradictions, and falsehood struck her from the very first.

She was ashamed of Isabella, and ashamed of having ever loved her.