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Chapter 13.

If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to contain a renewal of his offers. She had formed

no expectation at all of its contents. But such as they were, it may be well-supposed how eagerly

she went through them, and what a contriety of emotion they excited. Her feelings, as she read,

were scarcely to be defined. With amazement, did she first

understand that he believed any apology to be in his power. And steadfastly was she persuaded

that he could have no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would not conceal.

With a strong prejudice against everything, he might say, she began his account

of what had happened at Netherfield. She read with an eagerness which hardly left her power of

comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring, was incapable of

attending to the sense of the one before her eyes.

His belief of her sister's insensibility, she instantly resolved to be false,

and his account of the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him justice. He expressed no regret for what he had done, which satisfied her.

His style was not penitent, but haughty.

It was all pride and insolence.

But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham, when she read with

somewhat clearer attention, a relation of events which, if true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which bore so alarming in affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.

Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror oppressed her. She wished to discredit it entirely,

...