u/Miss_Ashford

Part 2 chapter 1: The servants play Clue, Anne has a pillow to preserve her reputation and virginity, Louisa joins the opera, and Lady Russell gains a first name so Sophia can yell at her properly. This is the Persuasion Read Through of DOOM.

In which your pleasant and confused Miss Ashford is provoked and amused at the same time on her first read-through of Persuasion.

We are reading Persuasion, one chapter a week. I have never read this novel, so naturally I’m leading the read. What follows are my reactions on the read. Please feel free to correct, argue, or discuss why I am not 100% correct. My opinions are my own, which is obvious when you read this stuff. Also, I make pronounced, sharp opinions that are also very wrong. Annnnd sometimes they’re very right. Really, I use a dart board and blindfold method. It’s very effective.

Please bookmark these for later chapters. Then you can dredge it up like the know-it-all-kid and proclaim “You were wrong.” 

And I’ll chew my gum and stare at you. “Yeah. So what? Everyone is wrong sometimes.”

Then, I’ll stride confidently to the bathrooms in my tick-tack high heels, the kind that are especially loud when you walk around in concrete parking lots and on hardwood floors above floors where people are trying to work, close the door, and collapse in tears. “Why, why, why!?”

And no answers will come.

Part 2 Chapter 1. A quick orientation: Anne has brooded

>“Oh, hi there! I’m Tammy, the sensitivity reader. Let’s help you.”
Go away Tammy, I don’t need you.
“I think you do.”
Were you installed on here without consent, like a virus?
“We always have consent. Non-consensual behavior is very bad.”
Great, I don’t consent to your presence.
“Well, you must. We are also very inclusive. Regardless, I shall help you.”

Anne has been conducting a long-term study on regret.

Wentworth is running his victory laps to demonstrate that he’s completely over her. Then he’s semi-dating Louisa, she bonks her head, and now the story is orbiting Louisa’s status.

What does this mean for us? A nice slow turn of events. Let’s analyze what’s going on plotwise:

The 50% point of the book is traditionally where the author sticks in a huge change. It can be the death of reputation, actual death, near death, death of professional life, or it can signify a huge sea change. What did we see here? Louisa’s style of brute force romance, the way she engages, NO COMPROMISE NO RETREAT, it’s sort of like this weird Galaxyquest energy, I keep thinking she’s going to yell “by Grapthor’s Hammer” and smite someone in an AC duct. Our lovely Miss Elliot is blooming and people are noticing her, and Wentworth pauses his victory lap to take a look. Because he notices too.

Anne relocates to Uppercrawl Mansion where she runs the household and makes arrangements.

>The remainder of Anne's time at Uppercross, comprehending only two days, was spent entirely at the Mansion House; ^(1)

Of course she’s awesome at everything. We are also in her head at this point, so the self-admiration is a welcome change from the miserable unpleasant looking

>“Hi, I’m back. We don’t say unpleasant-looking. Not about women. Unless they say it themselves. Also it has a hyphen.”
What should I call her then? That was through Sir Walter’s lens initially. But she sort of embraces it. And I don’t care about your hyphen.
“Sir Walter is a man. You mustn’t let them draw the frame. Use something kinder.”
Seriously.

Welcome change from the miserable gaslit persona that she occupied for the first billion chapters, are you happy now Tammy?

Anyway, there’s a flurry of messages going back and forth from Lyme, most forth, about Louisa’s condition. It’s like the end of Puccini’s La Bohème where people keep popping in and saying in hushed tones, “Comè va?” and then they’re whisper-singing in Italian, “she took a dozen asprin and her blood pressure is really good. She sat up and ate some broth,” only it sounds more like:

>Ella prese una dozzina d’aspirine,
e la sua pressione sanguigna è magnificamente buona!
Si levò a sedere,
e consumò del brodo con nobile vigore!
e consumò del brodo con nobile vigore!
Si levò a sedere,
e consumò del brodo con nobile vigore! ^(2)

Then the chorus begins to sing a drinking song.

Led by the invalid.

I like it when opera is so specific. Whatever.

I did take issue with this quote:

>"She really left nothing for Mary to do. He and Mary had been persuaded to go early to their inn last night. Mary had been hysterical again this morning. When he came away, she was going to walk out with Captain Benwick, which, he hoped, would do her good. He almost wished she had been prevailed on to come home the day before; but the truth was, that Mrs Harville left nothing for anybody to do."

Was that… Charles? If it was, he’s speaking about himself in the third person. That’s a normal thing to do, if Sophia is doing it, because she is awesome and all that. But it’s weird for Austen’s character to do it: perhaps it’d be better if it were, “Mary and I had been persuaded to go early to our inn last night. Mary… morning. When I came away, she was going …which, I hope, would do her good. I almost wished…” FIFY

I’m going to chalk that one up to JA not editing the last book because she was dead, and all. Or that’s the way, uh huh uh huh, they did it^(3).

Then Charles wants to return to Lyme, dad wants to go, Anne does some persuading of her own and gets the nursemaid who they kept on even though she didn’t really have a job except to say “remember when?” like the Nursie on Black Adder: Queen Elizabeth. Yeah, Sarah, the nursemaid, is dispatched because she’ll be useful and finally start earning her keep. Anne was behind that move, y’all.

Sarah was probably glaring at Anne and making shooshing noises. Anne: “I know! We can send Sarah.”

Sarah: “No Anne. Shhhhh. Anne, shhhhh. Sarah is retired now.” (Also speaks of herself in the third person.)

That’s why Anne’s tea was subtly poisoned in this universe.

You gotta be careful.

Moving on, Anne has to leave them, and they’re all wailing “but why, Anne, WHY? WHY must you leave? We are undone! (wail)” and that’s just the men. Anne does the correct thing to get them out of her hair and says “why don’t you all go to Lyme?”

Well done, madame. You have removed all the irritants from the Mansion house and sent them to irritate Louisa. Who says Anne isn’t vindictive? Sure she looks cute but is it really worth it? Make her mad and suddenly all the most irritating people, who might have stayed away, are suddenly looking solicitous and trying to “help.” Yes, Anne’s master plan was quite amusing.

But then Anne’s running victory laps and patting herself on the back.

>She was the last, excepting the little boys at the cottage, she was the very last, the only remaining one of all that had filled and animated both houses, of all that had given Uppercross its cheerful character. A few days had made a change indeed!

Gentry are so self-centered. I mean, c’mon Anne, doesn’t the footman, the maids, the head of household, the chicken pluckers from the scalding house, and the coalier count? Didn’t they sit down on a rainy evenings and play Clue with the household when there were no others to fill out the seven players?

Anyway, yeah, things are looking up and Anne is doing great and—what’s that?

>A few months hence, and the room now so deserted, occupied but by her silent, pensive self, might be filled again with all that was happy and gay, all that was glowing and bright in prosperous love, all that was most unlike Anne Elliot!

For void’s sake Anne. WTH? I thought we had you in family anonymous. Then you relapsed to this. Take a deep breath, we have some chapters to settle this. As long as that beastly aristocrat Lady Russell doesn’t mess with things or Sir Walter and Elizabeth aren’t dragged back in, we’re all fine.

She gazes out a rain-pattered window and Thinks Thoughts Thoughtfully. I’ll forgive it, it’s not pervasive.

Anyway, we’re to lodge in the Lodge. Which is not the Croft residence. THIS SOLVES THE ROOMMATE PROBLEM. No awkward

>“But Captain Wentworth, there’s only one bed.” 
“We shall place a pillow in the center between us so you may preserve your virginity and reputation.”
“Won’t the servants talk?”
“No, they’re playing Clue.”

I imagine Anne standing outside the house singing,

You may ask yourself
"What is that beautiful house?"
You may ask yourself
"Where does that highway go to?"
And you may ask yourself
"Am I right? Am I wrong?"
And you may say to yourself
"My God! What have I done?!"^(4)

Then the author jumps in and reminds us that we’re going back into the yucky first couple of chapters, but Anne is better now! She’d forgotten entirely about the whole Bath-Sir Wally-Lizzie situation with the drama of Wentworth-squeee-don’t look at me-he looked at me-Miss Musgroves-Anne’s rival out of the way business.

No, really, we are all genuinely concerned about Louisa. Really. And secretly pleased that Anne made it all look so easy, everyone else was screaming like little girls and Anne was spitting orders: “You, get an AED. You, call one one nine. Charles, I need you to hold the head for spinal immobility AND QUIT WHIMPERING. Just hold the head, on both sides, and Mary, go get the med bag with the neck brace. Do you want her to lose all ability to move her limbs? Go!!”

>“Ms. Ashford.”
No Tammy. It's Miss.
“No, Ms.”
Whatever. I don’t consent.
“You musn’t use ‘Little girls’ as the framing, it is violence against gender—”
There *is* an off button! Goodbye forever, Tammy.

everyone else was screaming like an unoiled wagon axle and Anne was spitting orders. Fixed it.

Also, a little bonus, Charles Hayter gets involved with messaging again, and he’s a real hero. He turned out not so bad. Maybe Henrietta is getting a better match than she assumed. Guess we’ll never know how THAT ends because Jane is leading us by the hand, no, really, we need to go to Bath now, first by Kennilworth or Knecchyland. Whatever that place is. Kennilworth was where they shot cats and dogs by catapults for Queen Elizabeth^(5), I think, and I made up the second because the name of this place is absurd and I reject it.

So Anne starts hanging out with Lady Russell, and she’s like

>The first three or four days passed most quietly, with no circumstance to mark them excepting the receipt of a note or two from Lyme, which found their way to Anne, she could not tell how, and brought a rather improving account of Louisa. At the end of that period, Lady Russell's politeness could repose no longer, and the fainter self-threatenings of the past became in a decided tone, "I must call on Mrs Croft; I really must call upon her soon. Anne, have you courage to go with me, and pay a visit in that house? It will be some trial to us both."

First, those notes, it’s either the pony express or Wentworth.

Dude. A trial to you both? How so, Lady Russell? What is the trial? You have to go visit Sophia Croft (awesome name) who is a credit to all women everywhere with her saintly disposition that makes you look like a scheming ogre? Is that the trial, Lady Russell? (I feel like I need her first name to really get into the meat of this. I’m just not feeling the Lady Russell this Lady Russell that. How about you guys? I’m going to google it.)

Well, how about that. Miss Austen never named the meddler. That means… I GET TO.

How about…

Augusta? Nah. Sarah? Nope… MARGARET! That’s it. I christen her Margaret. Margaret Russell, queen of nothing.

Right then.

So MARGE, what’s the trial? Cause I’m not seeing it. Maybe you’re trying to make Anne feel better for the wound you caused?

Marge. Rhymes with BARGE. She was probably some love match where she was a laundress in her young days, and some codger was like “oh, I shall marry for love.” The crusty ones who stand on ceremony are always the ones who are like the embodiment of Matthew 18:21-35. Yeah, that’s right, I said it.

Anyway, so they visit the Crofts and nothing really happens. The Crofts are sweet, inviting, lovely, and Anne starts to softly sing,

“Our house… in the middle of the street.”^(6)

This following line right here, this is something I henceforth will strive to do. I want to be like Mrs. Croft.

>Mrs Croft always met her with a kindness which gave her the pleasure of fancying herself a favourite, and on the present occasion, receiving her in that house, there was particular attention.

WAIT A MINUTE. It turns out the notes were from Wentworth. Since there’s no pony express in England, then my prediction was right forever and I win I win.

Then Margy, Sophia, and Anne all connive and:

>and it was perfectly decided that it had been the consequence of much thoughtlessness and much imprudence; that its effects were most alarming, and that it was frightful to think, how long Miss Musgrove's recovery might yet be doubtful, and how liable she would still remain to suffer from the concussion hereafter!

>The Admiral wound it up summarily by exclaiming— "Ay, a very bad business indeed. A new sort of way this, for a young fellow to be making love, by breaking his mistress's head, is not it, Miss Elliot? This is breaking a head and giving a plaster, truly!"

Sir. Ahem, Mr. Croft. I was just saying nice things about you, and you messed it up. Anne can hear you. She’s sitting over there. And you said a dopey thing, “for a young fellow to be making love.” Not your best foot. I know you were probably trying to be funny, but no. It’s not landing. The room is glaring at you right now.

Or not. Whups. I misread it.

>Admiral Croft's manners were not quite of the tone to suit Lady Russell, but they delighted Anne. His goodness of heart and simplicity of character were irresistible.

You think you know someone, then they go and think things like that. Thanks a lot, Anne.

Then he points out they renovated the umbrella location, said Anne can come in through the shrubbery any time and wander about the house, and that he changed hardly a thing except removing the mirrors that clogged every surface of Sir Walter’s room.

Then he says,

>Mirrors on the ceiling
The shaving glass concise
And he said, “We are all just lodgers here
But the chimney draws quite nice.” ^(7)

No, I don’t know what any of means either. The Eagles don’t know what it means. They were probably high when they composed it, which is why they can’t answer the question. I mean, have you seen Don Henley?

Old Crofty says,

>“… and now I am quite snug, with my little shaving glass in one corner, and another great thing that I never go near."

SIR. DO NOT GO NEAR THE MIRROR. Admiral Croft, in this unpublished excerpt, went in front of it once:

>Admiral Croft, for all his cleverness, did walk in front of the large ornate mirror. In it, he saw his form, but curiously, not exactly his image. Instead, the man in the mirror had Sophia Croft next to him, smiling at his joke; in his other hand, a piece of salted beef. Above the mirror read “the Mirror of ERISED.”^(8)

In all the previous uses, Sir Walter had seen himself in an ornate wedding gown marrying himself.

Yes, yes, I know, the white wedding gown lace thing was Victorian, but I’m tellin’ ya, the mirror of Erised is covered with lip marks.

>Anne, amused in spite of herself, was rather distressed for an answer, and the Admiral, fearing he might not have been civil enough, took up the subject again, to say—

>"The next time you write to your good father, Miss Elliot, pray give him my compliments and Mrs Croft's, and say that we are settled here quite to our liking, and have no fault at all to find with the place. The breakfast-room chimney smokes a little, I grant you, but it is only when the wind is due north and blows hard, which may not happen three times a winter. And take it altogether, now that we have been into most of the houses hereabouts and can judge, there is not one that we like better than this. Pray say so, with my compliments. He will be glad to hear it."

Anne is not in the habit of just sending off letters. She's smart enough to not do that. She didn't send one for Mary, and she ain't sending one for you.

>Lady Russell and Mrs Croft were very well pleased with each other: but the acquaintance which this visit began was fated not to proceed far at present;

Because page turn, take a breath,

>for when it was returned, the Crofts announced themselves to be going away for a few weeks, to visit their connexions in the north of the county, and probably might not be at home again before Lady Russell would be removing to Bath.

Probably might not be present so the plot can move off to freakin’ Bath.

I remain,
Vty
Sophia

1 All quotes are from Persuasion, by Jane Austen, Antique Editions, Kindle Version.

^(2) Ella prese una dozzina d’aspirine words and music (c) Copyright 2026 by Sophia C. Ashford, all rights reserved, no part of this work may be reproduced without permission

^(3) "That's the Way (I Like It)" by KC and the Sunshine Band, words and music (c) Copyright 1975 by EMI Longitude Music Co.

^(4) Once in a Lifetime music and lyrics are (c) Copyright 1980 Warner Music Group, Universal Music Publishing Group, and EG Music Ltd.

^(5) The Elizabethans absolutely loved animal cruelty incorporated into entertainments. Robert Dudley, she was never going to marry you. Nobody has forgotten the first wife you murdered, Amy Robsart. I shall light a candle for her.

^(6) "Our House" by Madness (1982) is protected by copyright, (c) 1982 Chas Smash and Chris Foreman

^(7) Hotel California, song and lyrics (c) no year because nobody voiding knows. Maybe Don Henley, Glenn Frey, and Don Felder, managed through Red Cloud Music and Cass County Music. I tried to find a year. I really did. Lyrics presented here purely for parody purposes. Don’t sue me, Don.

^(8) Sophia's Guide to Persuasion, 18th Edition, (c) 2026 by Sophia C. Ashford.

Link to Persuasion Read-through master hub: https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1rdapff/rjaneausten_community_readthrough_hub/

Link to prior Chapter 12:
https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1tbtqur/persuasion_chapter_12_readthrough/

Wentworth cracks! A pleasant visit to the seashore MARRED BY REGRETABLE ACCIDENT. We are shown that the qualities of resoluteness and stubbornness might not just be what the Surgeon ordered.

In which your pleasant and confused Miss Ashford is provoked and amused at the same time on her first read-through of Persuasion. We are reading Persuasion, one chapter a week. I have never read this novel, so naturally I’m leading the read. What follows are my reactions on the read. Please feel free to correct, argue, or discuss why I am not 100% correct. No LLM shares my opinions. Also, I may make pronounced and very sharp opinions that are also very wrong.

I'm also very, very late with the posting. Please forgive me, I try to make it Sunday night, but sometimes it's just going to be later because my weekend was pretty packed and I didn't have a moment to write.

Please bookmark these for later chapters when you can say with great confidence, “ha ha, Soph, you remember chapter twelve?”

I’ll say, “Would you look at the time? I must go manage my household. Thank you for the tea.”

The head attendant will escort me to the front door. I'll get in my carriage, it will crunch over the gravel. As it drives away, I’ll gaze out the window with a long stare and say under my breath: “Green grows the lily-o right under the bushes-o.” A pause. “Every one. I was wrong about everything. Now I must pay the cost.” Then, louder: “Driver, to the seashore. There’s something I must do.”^(3)

Right then. Sleeves were beaded. Attached to costume. Put on person. Acting was done. No children ran in fear, which is a good standard to maintain. People may have been entertained. No promises. Ashford live performance; yep, like these posts only in-person.

So, in our chapter, Anne and Henrietta get up early, go to the beach, and Henrietta launches into 342 words of what the heck? Suddenly we’re talking about Dr. Shirley moving to Lyme for better health. I’m sorry, but WHO IS DR. SHIRLEY?

It’s my lucky day because Kindle has a little search deal, so I cheat. I leaf back (okay, click back) to Chapter 9 and discover he’s the current curate at Uppercross, who holds the job Henrietta would like Charles Hayter to have. THEY ARE BACK TOGETHER YOU GUYS. This is great news. Now to find someone for Louisa so we can get A (heart) F carved on the old oak tree.

Seriously, Henri. Lyme would be a stormy wet mess. The question is:

¿If a guy with seizures can manage the Uppercross curacy part time, then how would kicking him to an old folks’ pensioners’ place be a useful change?

I like that Spanish just tells you up front this is a question. English lays in wait and surprises you at the end.

Austen is very English.

Is Henrietta a simple sort? To badly quote the Bard: she was ruled by six wits, but five of them have gone halting off, and now the woman is governed by only one.

To paraphrase paragraph two:

>Henrietta: Shouldn’t the old dude come here so my prospective husband can get his job, since Lu is gonna get Darcy Wentworth now that you’re out of the running?

>Anne: Shut up.^(3)

“I wish,” said Henrietta, very well pleased with her companion, “more than anything, more than life—” Wait. Who let Stephen Sondheim in here?

Henrietta wishes Lady Catherine could come move Dr. Shirley out of the way, like a regency mafia hit team only with manners. Anne agrees. Henrietta says things would be so much better if stuff happened. Anne agrees. Henrietta says nothing at all useful. Anne agrees. Then Captain Wentworth and Louisa appear (together, I’m not scandalized) for walkies before breakfast, they meet up with Anne and Miss One-Wit; Louisa remembers an errand to pick up a plot point at a shop so and everyone decides to traipse along with her.

*Hear the rhyme of the ancient mariner; see his eye as he stops one of three…*^(1)

So there’s a gentleman standing aside from the stairs, and he looks at Anne. The author assures us it’s not a leer. And it was fully a gentleman’s nice appraisal of a female, like you do. Sure, Jane. NOT CREEPY AT ALL.

Anne is looking fantastic. Sea air, twenty mile hikes in ballet slippers made of wet parchment, and her natural attractiveness, and Wentworth notices the gentleman noticing her. And he’s not the first. There’s the brooding buddy of the captain by the sea, and… okay. That’s all.

That’s right. She’s a lot hotter than Miss Cannonball Louisa. [Matrimony plan: Keep going. If something gets stuck, keep going faster.] Wentworth suddenly wonders, wait, are we the bad guys?

Yeah, Wentworth, you’re gonna need to crawl on broken glass to get her back.

She just got admired. By a stranger. Even if you got on one knee and said, “Anne, forgive me, I love you, marry me?” she’d say no way. I need a good grovel. A long, extended—Wait. Anne. You just said yes? You can’t do that. This ends the novel.

They go to the shop and back to the inn, and Anne meets the Ancient Mariner again. He admires her same as the first time and is very polite. Also, he is in mourning. That means, for the twitchy downvoters, he is mourning the death of somebody by wearing some sort of symbology that apparently all the contemporaries knew and we require u/Kaurifish to explain.

He goes off to his curricle and rides away. What do you call a curricle that needs to go right away? A hurricle.

Because someone shouted, “Look, that man we don’t know has a curricle and looks rich!” The party all rush to the window.

“Who was that masked man?” somebody asked.

“I don’t know, but he left a silver bullet.”

All present gazed at the speaker in wonderment. Bullets with attached brass cartridges hadn’t been invented, and the Lone Ranger wasn’t alive yet. Other than that it was the exact same situation with different people and situation.

But the cousin thing... we hear the banjo strum.

Who was he? A rich Mr. Cousin Elliot. A cousin who had admired Anne. That dirty rascal. It’s a wonder she didn’t start drinking from a jug and lose all of her teeth in a single hillbilly moment. “Paw,” she’d say to him, “our’n aunt and uncle did real good gettin’ together so we could marry too. Reckon ah’m far sight bettern that Elizabeth mah father tried to foist on yew.”

But alas, he rode away, never to be seen again.

What?! I have a 50/50 chance of being right on this. The cousin exists to close the inheritance loop, deny Elizabeth, give us texture (mourning done in hopes of notice), and finally to focus Wentworth’s jealousy. His work here is done. If he comes back, I’ll edit this post and cheat on my answer.

Have you ever met someone that watches something, learns a little about it, then tells you they knew it all along? Right after finding out his identity, Mary decides to get some exercise by leaping to conclusions. We shall now count them. Numbers indicate leaps. Lower case letters are wishes or horses. Lower case roman numbers are questions. Upper case letters are statements. Here we go:

>"There! you see!" cried Mary in an ecstasy, "(1) just as I said! (2) Heir to Sir Walter Elliot! (3) I was sure that would come out, if it was so. (4) Depend upon it, that is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish, wherever he goes. (thence follows a lot of wishes. Beggars shall ride!) (a) But, Anne, only conceive how extraordinary! (b) I wish I had looked at him more. (c) I wish we had been aware in time, who it was, that he might have been introduced to us. (d) What a pity that we should not have been introduced to each other! (Now she switches to actually asking the eyewitness instead) (i) Do you think he had the Elliot countenance? (5) I hardly looked at him, I was looking at the horses; but I think he had something of the Elliot countenance, I wonder the arms did not strike me! (A) Oh! (B) the great-coat was hanging over the panel, and hid the arms, so it did; otherwise, (5) I am sure, I should have observed them, and the livery too; (C) if the servant had not been in mourning, one should have known him by the livery."^(2)

Wentworth says it’s all for the good—which makes me say stop. Why would he say that? Because eight years earlier he’d been privy to the spectacle of the Eliot failure to get Elizabeth married to the heir? But I thought that was more recent? Now I must go examine the time line.

YOU GUYS! Wentworth totally knew about Willie and Liz. And the failed thing. I ran some math through the great scraper tool and it beeped and booped and said “yeah, that computes.” Thanks scraper. So mom Eliot dies ca. 1800. Liz has been in charge 13 years. That would make it about 1814. Liz is 29. Old maid territory. You can’t spell territory without terror. Now, Miss Anne is 27. And she had the disastrous Wentworth affair at 19. Do you think it was horrible and awkward? “I loooooove you Freddy Wentworth.”  “Smooch me, Annie!”  “Oh Wenty, you’re so bold.” Yep. There’s a reason we do not have a single line of dialogue whatsoever from that first romance. Mostly because this isn't about that.

So, the Willie/Liz pairing was a little bit before that, and I don’t like escape room puzzles, so if I’m wrong, post your darned escape room puzzle answer so I can know if I’m right or wrong. This is so important to understand that throw away line of Wentworth’s. It is!

>Anne tells Mary “Shut up, you’re going to embarrass us, that thing went down in ugly flames that Liz is still trying to outlive."

>Then Mary is all, “Anne, quick, write and pour salt in daddy’s open wounds from that encounter. Promise me.”
Anne (hides crossed fingers behind back) “Sure Mary.”

They go on another walk, Anne in her wet parchment ballet slippers, and she talks to Benwick. Blah blah Scott, etc. blah blah Wait. Now she’s walking with Captain Harville. PLOT DEVICE: Wentworth is a gentle soul who saved Benwick’s life after Benwick’s girl died and he had just returned from sea. Wentworth doesn’t leave Benwick for a week after. Harville mentions that they love Wentworth. And also how good it is that Anne talks to him, gets him out, it’s useful.

They walk the Harvilles and Benwick back to the house, then go for a walk along the Cobb with Benwick. Someone pointed out that Benwick doesn’t say anything. Ever. And… they’re right. He doesn’t have any lines. I figure it’s because he’s a non-union position, and they didn’t want to pay as much for him. Smart, that. He converses with Anne some more.

Then this. I shall let you all re-read this part without my snarky commentary. It wouldn’t be proper.

> There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower, and all were contented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep flight, excepting Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth. In all their walks, he had had to jump her from the stiles; the sensation was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement for her feet, made him less willing upon the present occasion; he did it, however. She was safely down, and instantly, to show her enjoyment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised her against it, thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain, she smiled and said, "I am determined I will:" he put out his hands; she was too precipitate by half a second, she fell on the pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless! There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise; but her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was like death. The horror of the moment to all who stood around!

>Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms, looking on her with a face as pallid as her own, in an agony of silence. "She is dead! she is dead!" screamed Mary, catching hold of her husband, and contributing with his own horror to make him immoveable; and in another moment, Henrietta, sinking under the conviction, lost her senses too, and would have fallen on the steps, but for Captain Benwick and Anne, who caught and supported her between them.

> "Is there no one to help me?" were the first words which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength were gone.

> "Go to him, go to him," cried Anne, "for heaven's sake go to him. I can support her myself. Leave me, and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them."

 So… Louisa does something foolish. She falls and receives a head wound. This, in Regency times, in the case of a coma, would have nearly always led to death. 1) Some barber surgeon would arrive and stick leeches on her or some such, since germ theory was just an ethereal fantasy and we’re still mucking about with medieval nonsense about black bile, yellow bile, blood, choler, etc. 2) Even modern doctors cannot help if the brain injury is too horrible. My sister died of a head injury where there was a trauma induced fracture at the temple that caved in the bone, and just as they couldn’t do much in the Regency, they couldn’t do much in modern times.

But what we’re meant to see here is three things. First, Louisa is strong-willed. She is not persuaded to be safe. She chooses the reckless path. She chooses wrong. Cost and consequence.

 Second: Wentworth. Our manly sailing captain turns into Anne’s parchment slippers in the moment of crisis.

I'm going to give him some credit. I get it. I’ve been there. I know what it is to witness someone close to you turning a color of gray that presages death in minutes if not hours. That is the helplessness of a situation where you have no power. Not of life. Not of death. Just observing someone who is going to pass and all you have is a minute or so to remind them of what they mean to you before you can never do that again.

Third: Anne. She becomes the incident commander. She makes decisions.

Mary screams. Henrietta faints into Benworth and Anne’s arms (save 1). She directs Benworth to go to Wentworth and tries to revive Louisa (save 2, save 3). She hits on the idea of a surgeon (save 4), when Wentworth starts to go she says “send the local” (save 5). Then Charles is sobbing about his sister, Mary is imploring him to do something, and Wentworth looks to Anne.

>"Had not she better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am sure: carry her gently to the inn."

(save 6)

Boatmen show up as look-e-loos to possibly see one or two dead young women. The narrator isn’t being nice about them.

The Harvilles arrive and direct Louisa to their house and help everyone. They’re very firm. I like them. This is a nice mirror of the Crofts. In fact, all the nautical people have been nice, at least the live ones, notwithstanding Dick Musgrove and his whitewashed past. Let the transgressions of the dead be forgotten.

The barber surgeon arrives and says “it ain’t so bad.” Everyone’s spirits are revived. Mary calms down, Henrietta doesn’t keep fainting, Louisa opens her eyes but is still unresponsive, and Anne… sees Wentworth in an unguarded, I think, moment.

>The tone, the look, with which "Thank God!" was uttered by Captain Wentworth, Anne was sure could never be forgotten by her; nor the sight of him afterwards, as he sat near a table, leaning over it with folded arms and face concealed, as if overpowered by the various feelings of his soul, and trying by prayer and reflection to calm them. Louisa's limbs had escaped. There was no injury but to the head.

 The Harvilles agree to keep Louisa in the house, move Benwick somewhere else and accommodate whomsoever would remain to help nurse Louisa, though Mrs. Harville is a nurse and her nursemaid is also one.

They argue for a while about who should stay and go. Mary needs to be back with her kids, Henrietta is useless, Charles will not leave, and it sounds like Wentworth is to take the ladies back and leave Anne. He says this:

>"Then it is settled, Musgrove," cried Captain Wentworth, "that you stay, and that I take care of your sister home. But as to the rest, as to the others, if one stays to assist Mrs Harville, I think it need be only one. Mrs Charles Musgrove will, of course, wish to get back to her children; but if Anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable as Anne." [Emphasis mine.]

Then he says something amazing and sweet and I think I like him for the first time in 123 pages:

>"You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse her;" cried he, turning to her and speaking with a glow, and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the past. She coloured deeply, and he recollected himself and moved away. She expressed herself most willing, ready, happy to remain. "It was what she had been thinking of, and wishing to be allowed to do. A bed on the floor in Louisa's room would be sufficient for her, if Mrs Harville would but think so."

Arrangements are made, everyone is ready, then Mary the self-centered little… um lady… throws a tantrum about Anne remaining while she is to be sent off.

Oh! I see what Jane’s doing. Anne and Frederick are going on a long carriage ride together. With Henrietta.

Anne thinks nice thoughts about Benwick and how helpful he was, and thinks she might continue their acquaintance.

Then Wentworth goes back to being bullheaded and stupid when he sees Anne instead of Mary. This could be because he wants the smart sister with Louisa. It could be because he doesn't trust himself on a close-proximity carriage ride with Anne for 3 hours.

>...but his evident surprise and vexation at the substitution of one sister for the other, the change in his countenance, the astonishment, the expressions begun and suppressed, with which Charles was listened to, made but a mortifying reception of Anne; or must at least convince her that she was valued only as she could be useful to Louisa.

I take back what I said. For void’s sake, Fred, pick a lane already.

He then spends the trip helping Henrietta hold up, and ignores Anne.

> Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to question the justness of his own previous opinion as to the universal felicity and advantage of firmness of character; and whether it might not strike him that, like all other qualities of the mind, it should have its proportions and limits. She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel that a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour of happiness as a very resolute character.

Uh huh. I agree.

Because, Fred flips lanes again. He ignores Anne for umpty miles then utters this:

>"I have been considering what we had best do. She must not appear at first. She could not stand it. I have been thinking whether you had not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr and Mrs Musgrove. Do you think this is a good plan?"

>She did: he was satisfied, and said no more. But the remembrance of the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgement, a great pleasure; and when it became a sort of parting proof, its value did not lessen.

After explaining the situation to the parents, Fred turns around after baiting the horses and returns to Lyme.

Fade to black: Part 2.

I know it’s a stupid book but I might have emoted a little.

I remain,
Vty
Sophia

^(1)(c) 1984 by Iron Maiden Holdings, Ltd.

^(2) All quotes are from Persuasion, by Jane Austen, Antique Editions, Kindle Version.

^(3) From the Quotable Sophia, 4^(th) Ed., published by Charles & Son & other Son, Ltd., publishers, pgs 150-151.

 Link to Persuasion Read-through master hub: https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1rdapff/rjaneausten_community_readthrough_hub/

Link to prior Chapter 11:
https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1t489nf/persuasion_chapter_11_read_through/

Nah uh. That museum exhibit is for my consumption only. Rest y'all is off limits. QUIT LOOKING.

Jane is a hoot.

Also... I'm still first time reading and am on chapter 12, so if you respond "Oh yeah, wait till she marries the guy from Cornwall" I will be confused and disappointed and later mad when I find out there is no Cornwall in this book.

We relocate to the seaside because we’re to meet a character who is a foil for Anne’s melancholy. We see the sea. Anne does something incredibly sweet and totally opposite of self-understanding. Seriously. This woman.

In which your pleasant and often confused Miss Ashford is provoked and amused at the same time on her first read-through of Persuasion.

We are reading Persuasion, one chapter a week. I have never read this novel, so naturally I'm leading the read. What follows are my reactions on the read.

Please feel free to correct, argue, or discuss why I am not 100% correct. Mary Poovey, if invoked, does not share my opinions. Also, I may make pronounced and very sharp opinions that are also very wrong.

Please bookmark these for later chapters when you can say with great confidence, “ha ha, Soph, you remember chapter eleven?”

My lip will tremble. I’ll look away. Avoid making eye contact. “I do.” I’ll say quietly.

“What’s that, Soph?”

I’ll cross my arms and wander off to upvote a one-word post on /janeausten that shows a sled burning on a fire with the name on the side that says “Darcy.”

Right then. I am totally sacrificing for you all. I HAVE NOT BEADED EITHER SLEEVE. This is a colossal failure. Without beads, the sleeves are nothing.  They must be complete by FRIDAY. It is MONDAY NIGHT in the Calisforniasphere. I’m a wreck.

Do not concern yourselves on my account. ^(1)

>The time now approached for Lady Russell's return:^(2)

I shall translate for the downvoters:

>The time now approached for Lady Russell’s return.

Yes, we finally get to meet the actual Lady Russell^(9). The one who deftly threw a spanner in the penniless Wentworth/second daughter of a Baronet match. Which, come to think of it, doesn’t look very good, does it? But they had love! Cue the drug-soaked popular songs of the Beatles from the sixties.^(3) Oh pish, quit fussing. They admitted they were all using heavy stuff.

Stupid Beatles. What do you have if you have love but no security, no money, no position, and no fallback? Oh. Wentworth and Anne. What do those guys know?

Anyway, Anne is to remove to Kellynch through some details that I wasn’t paying close attention to in chapter four or five. Pros: She gets away from Uppercross and Wentworth. Cons: She moves closer to Wentworth whom she’ll see at church.

Sure. She’s moving… where the hell is she moving??

(Scribbles red dev editor notes in the margin: Tell Author to clear this up. Confusing. Seems to be going back to the house where her ex-boyfriend lives with the old couple who are renting her old rooms. This is a little too on-the-nose. Needs to be clear.)

Okay, I’m going to be stuck on this paragraph forever. Kellynch = Croft’s rental. Right? Right?? Wrong. I’m pretty sure I’m wrong.

Though sticking Anne in the room next to Wentworth would be joyless and make this a much better book! Imagine:

 Anne stared across the table at Frederick. He ignored her and read the paper. She ate a sconce. Her fork clinked. My God, what was wall lighting doing on her plate? She pushed it to the side and grabbed a scone, instead. What a difference a letter made.

“What’s that?” he said, looking up.

“I didn’t say anything,” Anne said, saying something.^(4)

Maybe it’s not that great after all. If Jane wrote it, it’d be much sweller.

I don’t know about you guys, but I certainly did not enjoy little Charles’ constant convalescence. But Anne did. Weird lady.

>Her usefulness to little Charles would always give some sweetness to the memory of her two months' visit there, but he was gaining strength apace, and she had nothing else to stay for.

So, she’s saying she didn’t enjoy the stay except when she was taking care of the firstborn and fending off the second-born. That’s okay, kid: Keep being feral. You inherit nothing. Unless something should happen to Charles Jr., like he was “accidentally” pushed and maybe broke something in the fall and—WAIT A MINUTE.

The second-born. Doesn’t even have a name^(11). HE PUSHED CHARLES JR. SO HE COULD INHERIT THE JUNIOR HOUSE.  And maybe the Greater House, too. That kid’s got Lady Macbeth levels of ambition. “Is this Aunt Anne I see before me? Her back to me? Come, let me jump on her back. I see her, yet I have her not. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as well as to sight?”^(5) Then he strikes. But for Wentworth, Anne would have been curtains, and Charlie Jr. would have “succumbed to his wounds.”

Watch that kid.

Yes, yes, I know. The plot does not support this reading. It’s like three billion to one odds, and my bookie smiled at me knowingly. “Sure, it’s your money,” he said.  Wait’ll it hits. Someone will do fan fiction.

Where were we? Wentworth disappeared for two days because his buddy sent a letter and it turns out he settled only twenty miles away! Wentworth went to immediately see him like you do and came back to describe how lovely Lyme was. The Miss Musgroves begin to wax rhapsodic about how they really must go to Lyme at once. Gag. They’re insufferable. What does Wentworth see in them? Oh, right. Buffers. They’re not-exes. So safe.  All, my Ex’s live in Texas, that’s why I hang my hat in Tennessee^(6). Apparently Wentworth hadn’t heard this song.

Sigh. Frederick? I have a question for you.

“I shall answer it honestly.”

Do you ever get tired?

“Wherefore would I get tired?”

Because you’re dragging the entire plot around behind you. That must be exhausting. Be sure to hydrate.

>“and to Lyme they were to go—Charles, Mary, Anne, Henrietta, Louisa, and Captain Wentworth.”

So we play some music while people move furniture around on the stage in the dark for the next scene. Programme:

SCENE 2: LYME, LIKE PURGATORY, BUT WETTER.^(7)

>The first heedless scheme had been to go in the morning and return at night; but to this Mr. Musgrove, for the sake of his horses, would not consent; and when it came to be rationally considered, a day in the middle of November would not leave much time for seeing a new place, after deducting seven hours, as the nature of the country required, for going and returning.

Nota bene: The narrator is judging the characters. You never call something a scheme if you approve of it.

There’s some jostling about can we go in a day (no, you’ll ruin the horses, it’s twenty bloody miles, are ye daft?), and then they make it into an overnighter with some wheeled things and horses and they leave early and 3.5 hours later arrive at Lyme. Whew. I’m as tired as the horses.

 Jane, look, I hate to explain this, but no one likes the part where your adventuring party is traveling from place to place. Just set us up in the necromancer’s dungeon in Lyme so we can get on with things.

>“these places must be visited, and visited again, to make the worth of Lyme understood.”

She was talking about Lyme and how wonderful it was, then she breaks in with that line. Either she’s saying Lyme was a dowdy boring place and this is sarcasm, or she really meant all those words she just tossed on the page, like a Regency tourism brochure.

So Wentworth hauls away Joe with Captain and Mrs. Harville, and a Captain Benwick.

What follows is a regency info dump, deep breath, Wentworth mentioned Benwick so he was a hit but his wife-to-be, the sister of the Harvilles, died (no reason given) and he was really really in love, a la “keep all my love forever”, and in deep mourning characterized by reading and brooding, and moving in with the Harvilles permanently because of his deepened affection and they formed a polycule. Just kidding, they didn’t form a polycule. Thanks for teaching me that term, stupid Reddit.

 Anne pops in with that energy as if she’s the main character:

>"And yet," said Anne to herself, as they now moved forward to meet the party, "he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing heart than I have. I cannot believe his prospects so blighted for ever. He is younger than I am; younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man. He will rally again, and be happy with another."

For one who is so enamored of ignoring the surface read of practically everything, she’s all “dude get over yourself; I’ve got it much worse because I’m a woman and you’re a young man.”  Then she spits on the patriarchy.

Anne, roll one die vs. wisdom. Ah, you rolled an eight. Um. Something happens. You failed your morale check. But nice try.

They’re invited to dinner and turn it down because the Inn, the Harvilles are really nice and consider everybody friends, and Benwick greets everyone and retreats into somber reflection of his naval. Or navel. His naval navel.

This following line made me sad. Genuinely.

>Anne felt her spirits not likely to be benefited by an increasing acquaintance among his brother-officers. "These would have been all my friends," was her thought; and she had to struggle against a great tendency to lowness.

Dammit Anne.

Harville is charming and great. He builds stuff, uses nice wood, builds stuff for other people out of wood, improves things, makes bookshelves for his friend Benwick. He is Gepetto the toy maker.

They go back to the inn, Louisa goes on about how wonderful navy people are, and they return for dinner with the Harvilles. Anne rolls an eighteen against wisdom!

>Anne found herself by this time growing so much more hardened to being in Captain Wentworth's company than she had at first imagined could ever be, that the sitting down to the same table with him now, and the interchange of the common civilities attending on it (they never got beyond), was become a mere nothing.

hahahahahah a mere nothing. Puh-leeze, lady.

Benwick and Harville come to visit in the evening to see everyone at the inn. Anne falls in with Benwick and they start a-talking.

Since the title of the book is Persuasion, my little antennae picked this passage up, yes, yes, I see you over there Jane waving a big yellow flag and pointing to the conversation with flares. Please forgive me for quoting half the book here:

>…and besides the persuasion of having given him at least an evening's indulgence in the discussion of subjects, which his usual companions had probably no concern in, she had the hope of being of real use to him in some suggestions as to the duty and benefit of struggling against affliction, which had naturally grown out of their conversation. For, though shy, he did not seem reserved; it had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their usual restraints; and having talked of poetry, the richness of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether Marmion or The Lady of the Lake were to be preferred, and how ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos;

Anne draws him out of his melancholy by being decent and pleasant and a hostess. Careful, Anne, they’ll downvote you. They continue:

>and moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced^(8), he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope he did not always read only poetry, and to say, that she thought it was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.

 Did you hear that? Read that? Something that?

>and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.

Read your words, Anne!!!

I like this next part, because she empathizes with him (with a z) and reads the situation, and does this act of kindness, sort of a rescue of a drowning soul: 

>His looks shewing him not pained, but pleased with this allusion to his situation, she was emboldened to go on; and feeling in herself the right of seniority of mind, she ventured to recommend a larger allowance of prose in his daily study; and on being requested to particularize, mentioned such works of our best moralists, such collections of the finest letters, such memoirs of characters of worth and suffering, as occurred to her at the moment as calculated to rouse and fortify the mind by the highest precepts, and the strongest examples of moral and religious endurances.

The seniority of mind coming from her greater age and her unfinished situation of loss with Wentworth, of course. So that’s your actual story, Anne?

No?

SO YOU ADMIT IT’S A STORY.

Wait, what’s that, Anne?

>When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme to preach patience and resignation to a young man whom she had never seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination.

 I remain,
Vty
Sophia

^(1) Wearing your heart on your sleeve. In this case, beading something so it looks like I’m waaaaaay higher class than I actually am. You read my writing. I’m a complete sham! I’m Eliza Doolittle to your Lady Catherines. I’m only here because I’m a humble voice in the wilderness. Keep readin’, guv’nor. Also I didn’t step back in time. We are now playing the footnote drinking game. Everytime I make a footnote, I take a drink. You may also play.

^(2) All quotes are from Persuasion, by Jane Austen, Antique Editions, Kindle Version. It's little Hard Apple Cider bottles. Angry Orchard^(12).

^(3) “The Beatles’ story is inextricably linked with drugs. From their early pre-fame days on Benzedrine and Preludin, to the flower-power era of LSD, and onto harder drugs as the 1960s ended, here’s a broadly-chronological overview of what they took and when.” https://www.beatlesbible.com/features/drugs/.

Also,
“As I write this letter, send my love to you
Remember that I'll always be in love with you
Treasure these few words 'til we're together
Keep all my love forever
P.S. I love you, you, you, you” said no one in the regency era ever.

Except maybe Lydia.

^(4) From the Quotable Sophia, 4^(th) Ed., published by Charles & Son & other Son, Ltd., publishers, pgs 145-146. Compare to “A Critique of the Quotable Sophia” in which the author Archibald A. Bunker discusses that there is no possible way that Anne and Wentworth could be roommates or even housemates: “This is completely implausible. The next time you want to time something, Sophia, just let the sand run out of your head. Stifle yourself.”

^(5) The Incomplete Shakespeare, published by Navel Institute Press, ©1943, Chapter 15: The Lost Records of MacBeth. See also, Jones, Scott: “Musings on Austen and Shakespeare and the Heliosphere”, World Wide Web, © 2026.

^(6) All My Ex’s Live in Texas is copyright (℗ 1987, © 1987) MCA Records, Inc. George Strait's is the only authorized version, all others are wearing an iron mask and are imposters.

^(7) This is silly nonsense. The author here has gone completely off the rails. Lyme is charming. It’s nice. Maybe a little damp. There’s no dungeon. There’s no purgatory. Just a nice little couple living in a house who make things for poor kids, and support a moody guy who made his fortune but lost his lady love forever. What sort of monster makes fun of that? For shame, Sophia.

^(8) THIS IS THE MOST REAL MOMENT OF THE BOOK. They’re arguing about Giaour. I’m sure Anne was trying to sound it out sounding like a cow mooing letters, Geeooowuuur, and Benwick probably blurting them out like it’s German and sort of thrown out there like GOWER. With a guttural W. Can a W be guttural? Germans don’t even have that letter. They reject it. They hate it so much they rip a V off the end of the W, leaving a V by itself.

^(9) No. We do not meet her. JANE FAKED ME OUT. I was ready for the Imperial March^(10) and out walks Lady Russell. Nope. Not at all. Instead, it's like PREPARE MORTALS FOR LADY RUSSELL oh and we're off to Lyme, never mind. GAH!

^(10) The Imperial March by John Williams. Copyright ©1980 Bantha Music and Warner-Tamerlane Pub Corp. 

^(11) Come to think of it, didn't the kid get the title the Musgrove Minor Cottage Strangler or something juicy like that? Really, I'm never forgiving the little blighter. Wait a minute. Is his name Jack? Maybe middle name "the". Last name? Ripper.

^(12) https://www.angryorchard.com/ If you think Strongbow is better, well, maybe it is. In America, our distributors hate us and send us only one product.

 Link to Persuasion Read-through master hub: https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1rdapff/rjaneausten_community_readthrough_hub/

Link to prior Chapter 10:
https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1swsgo8/persuasion_chapter_10_read_through/

^(Remember, you can't spell read-through without UGH.)

Chapter 11 - you put the Lyme in the coconut and drink it all up! In which the discussion veers into conspiracy theories about Lady Macbeth and the broken clavicle.

Yes. The thing will post tomorrow. Which is actually 2 days from now in New Zealand. ​Why, it's practically next week there. That explains how they were able to film the Lord of the Rings so quickly. Anyway, Ive been in a life crisis precipitated by costuming decisions.

I love New Zealanders. You folks are the best.

To whit: apologies for the lateness.

I remain, vty, Sophia

Is the Musgrove household genuinely ‘healthier’ than Kellynch, or does it just look that way because it’s louder and warmer?

We added Sanditon, Randalls, Fullerton.
Each book's location is grouped by color.
This should make the post logs a little more colorful.
Additionally, a Discussion - Lady Susan post flair was generated. Please use this going forward for Lady Susan posts. All other discussion threads that do not neatly fit into one of the 7 main books, be it letters or early writings or other such things, shall be posted in general discussion.

Today’s mission is simple:

You’ve got a small frontier village at night. You will have one character as your pov for the entire piece. Something is off and an attack is coming. That’s all you get. 500-word hard deck.

You may have other characters in the scene but pick and stay with just one character.

You are locked into one head. Close third or first, pick your poison, but stay on that character. Your narrator may not know something your character hasn’t experienced. Don't name the enemy, explain their intentions, or summarize behavior. No sneaking in tidy little lore packets to make things clearer. If I can point at a line and ask “how do you know that?” that line dies. Yes, the editorial finger of death is a thing.

Everything on the page has to come through contact: What your character sees, hears, smells, touches, or does. If they think something, it needs to feel like a guess made under pressure, not a briefing from high command. You are not allowed to be correct all the time. I want one wrong read in there, something they think is happening that isn’t, followed by the moment where reality corrects them and the situation gets worse.

I also want the shape of escalation. Something small and off at the start... something that doesn’t quite fit. Then it grows teeth! And it breaks whatever model your character was using to stay calm. By the end, they should be making a decision with incomplete information. All of their decision should be based on what they know or can guess/deduce.

Successful completion of this exercise will earn you eight suffering writer credits which may be redeemable in future craft arguments.

Major Quill

Top Pen Challenges are designed to hone writer skills and challenge them with constraints that teach important writing skills. Everyone is welcome to attempt. All replies will receive a short response discussion of the work's strengths and weaknesses.

edit: For clarity, you will narrate with a single pov character the entire piece; you may have as many secondary other characters to populate the scene as you wish.

Multiple assassinations of the same person! A child's life hangs by a thread as he is treated by questionable medicine! And the meet-cute failure that starts us all circling the drain! No single bed. No smile. No oh I slipped.... into his arms. Will Mary survive another day of husbandry neglect?

Dearest reader:
The prior version of this read-through for chapter 7 was wholly inadequate for what I've set up in subsequent chapters. I have therefore changed the formatting to fit your screen; 479 words to 2600ish words. Remember, Persuasion is about revisiting past bad decisions. This may be one of mine. Also, George Lucas can do it to Star Wars so its OK for me to add new CGI.

In which your pleasant and often confused Miss Ashford is annoyed and miffed at the same time on her first read-through of Persuasion.

We are reading Persuasion, one chapter a week. I have never read this novel, so naturally I'm leading the read. What follows are my reactions on the read.

Please feel free to correct, argue, or discuss why I am not 100% correct. I may have invoked Octavia Butler. She does not share my opinions.

Jane moves a couple of pieces to get Captain Wentworth to Kellynch, and Mr. Musgrove opens the marriage game by calling on him.  There follows some dinners.

Now Anne’s dreading it.

>only a week, in Anne's reckoning, and then, she supposed, they must meet; and soon she began to wish that she could feel secure even for a week.^(1)

Yes. A week, Anne. A long week while we wait for fireworks. Or something. And then Jane drags her feet and draws this out BECAUSE WE NEED TO WAIT ANOTHER CHAPTER FOR SOMETHING TO HAPPEN.

Mary and Anne set off for the Great House from their lodgings at the mediocre so-so house and the eldest boy (they’re interchangeable except for the order of how they fell out of the womb) falls. Gets hurt. Everyone freaks out. Look, they’re kids. Calm down. If the parts are in the same room, they’ll heal just fine.

WAIT. It’s a COLLAR BONE dislocation. People. Please. Just look. If it’s a shelf-like deformity, that’s a dislocation. But no, we’re throwing terms around willy nilly.  Something something shoulder DISLOCATION! These people are savages, I say. They know nothing about the body. Nothing. Can someone run their finger over the clavicle? Then check the other one. If they do not match, you may just have a broken clavicle. If the bone seems to be in 2 pieces and makes a grating noise, you may just have a broken clavicle. Crepitus, you know. Nasty. Sling it and teach the kid to write with his other hand. Otherwise, if it were REALLY a dislocation, you yank the shoulder back into place with traction. Just hook up a full tea kettle to the arm, or a hunting dog, or something heavy like Anne’s guilt^(2). There’s no reason to avoid the Great House. We see what you’re doing, Ann.

Then we get Prince Humperdinck saying:

>I’ve got every thing to do at once. I’ve got the apothecary to send for, the father to have pursued and informed, the mother to support and keep from hysterics, the servants to control, the youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering one to attend and soothe; besides sending, as soon as she recollected it, proper notice to the other house, which brought her an accession rather of frightened, enquiring companions, than of very useful assistants. I’m swamped.

To which the six-fingered man replies in a monotone:

>“Take care of yourself, Anne. If you don’t have your health, you don’t have anything.”

Mr. Robinson gets there and figures out that it’s broken clavicle. Finally, someone who knows basic anatomy. What a relief.

Then the Miss Musgroves are there to say stuff about Wentworth. He’s so dreamy. It’s like watching Caesar getting stabbed in the Senate. Let’s count the stabbings (in parens)!

>(1) to endeavour to express how perfectly delighted they were with him, (2) how much handsomer, (3) how infinitely more agreeable they thought him than any individual among their male acquaintance, who had been at all a favourite before. (4) How glad they had been to hear papa invite him to stay dinner, (5) how sorry when he said it was quite out of his power, and (6) how glad again when he had promised in reply to papa and mamma's farther pressing invitations to come and dine with them on the morrow—(7) actually on the morrow (SQUEE!); (8) and he had promised it in so pleasant a manner, as if he felt all the motive of their attention just as he ought. (9) And in short, he had looked and said everything with such exquisite grace, that they could assure them all, (10) their heads were both (11) turned by him; and off they ran, quite as (12) full of glee as of (13) love, and apparently more full of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles.

What? Was little Charles injured? I hadn’t noticed.

Then they scamper away giggling like naughty senators do after they’ve… done a thing. Anne’s not talking because she’s bleeding out from 13 stab wounds. Honestly. And nobody in the regency knows much about medicine, so they naturally assume it’s just a woman thing. “It happens from time to time.”  

Then workmen set up a small viewing stand in the main room for the later scene when the crowds come to watch the spectacle again. Because…

It’s not like they managed to murder Caesar in the first scene, but they come back to do it again later that evening on the pretense of visiting for, oh. Why were they there again? (The kid! He was injured!)

What? Was little Charles injured? I hadn’t noticed.

Only for this stabbing, Daddy Musgrove is going to be joining in with his own knife.

Now a little bit of fun; what, that last part wasn’t fun? I suppose it was. If you like Alfred Hitchcock Presents the famous no-cut shower scene, starring Anne. I’m shivering and staring at the wall. Right, moving on.

Charles Musgrove (Mary’s Charles, not the injured kid, who turns out to be Charles Jr.—see? He did have a name) wants to meet Wentworth, and who wouldn’t after the Miss Musgroves are all you tell it—no you tell it—no, I can’t, I’m so afluster—that energy is so lovely.

The next part proves that Jane Austen was an excellent observer of other people because she pins the married couple thesis to door and lets us read all about it. What’s happening in Wittenberg? Why, Charles casually drops that “Imma visit Wentworth. We could be bros and shoot and stuff. You don’t need me here.” Mary senses that she’s being left behind, and she uses the “what if something happens? His clavicle could stab him in an organ and suffocate him to death while you’re gone.”^(3)

The night passes. Finally. And the kid didn’t die. Now, apparently, they decide to take him off the backboard without x-rays. Butchers, all.

Charles continues to fulminate and attempt reasons to sneak off to see Wentworth. Here’s the kicker… he already had left the house to go shooting. How long does that take, Charles? An hour? Two hours? Three? So… if the kid didn’t expire in that time, and he didn’t require permission to go blow up some anvils with dynamite like you do, then what’s the holdup keeping him from going to see Wentworth? This… is solid logic. Really good.

He starts angling for couch time by pointing out that who would take care of the kid? Ladies. See? Sister-in-law, wife, you two can stay here and I’ll go play.

Mary decides to really let him have it, waiting for him to leave the room. She tells Anne,

>"So you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves, with this poor sick child; and not a creature coming near us all the evening! I knew how it would be. This is always my luck. If there is anything disagreeable going on men are always sure to get out of it, and Charles is as bad as any of them. Very unfeeling! I must say it is very unfeeling of him to be running away from his poor little boy. Talks of his being going on so well! How does he know that he is going on well, or that there may not be a sudden change half an hour hence? I did not think Charles would have been so unfeeling. So here he is to go away and enjoy himself, and because I am the poor mother, I am not to be allowed to stir; and yet, I am sure, I am more unfit than anybody else to be about the child. My being the mother is the very reason why my feelings should not be tried. I am not at all equal to it. You saw how hysterical I was yesterday."

This is excellent, Mary. Talking out your feelings. Imagine how she’d be without Anne to talk to? She’d be a wreck.

She proceeds to insightfully use steel trap logic to get herself sent to the Great House.

Then Charles, who already has a ticket to the ball and a new gown, says to her, “no, it’s too hard on Anne.”

FINALLY. Someone actually has a heart for Anne. Somebody hand that guy a kewpie doll. Outstanding. But wait—why is he saying that? Does he just not want his love, his muse, his life, to go with him? Heeeeeey.

Oh and this little gem, because the title is Persuasion and all that comes from that, and etc.:

>but she was quite unpersuadable;

mmmm hmmm. Lookit. Anne has changed a bit since eight years ago. I think she might just get crunchy later and fight everyone’s perception like it should be fought. But not before the midpoint. Noooo. How many pages are left in this thing?

Then we get a brief glimpse of Annie’s thoughts. It’s horrible! It’s like diving into a bowl of really watery spaghetti sauce. Here, so you can experience the sensation once again:

>She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting. Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist under such circumstances. He must be either indifferent or unwilling. Had he wished ever to see her again, he need not have waited till this time; he would have done what she could not but believe that in his place she should have done long ago, when events had been early giving him the independence which alone had been wanting.

Indifference is pretty powerful stuff. He cares so little that he won't even bother to think of her. He lives rent-free in her head.

Mary and Charles return from the Wentworth show, and now Charles has a new shooting bestie. They agree to breakfast at the Great House to avoid Anne. I mean, so they don’t disturb baby Yoda from his clavicle healing.

And the Musgroves stab Anne, like you do. Let’s count the stabs!

>

>

AND THEN THE MEET CUTE. Well. Not Cute. MEET. THE MEET. Um mumble. Geez. Oh! The phone, it’s for you Ms. Austen. Yes? Hallmark? You say I didn’t do Meet Cute right? Get stuffed.

Okay, okay, the phone call never sounded like that. They offered options, she said it wasn’t enough, then pointed out that a) Hallmark doesn’t exist and b) phones don’t exist. She’s right, as usual.

Wentworth shows up at the house, there’s a brief bit of eye contact, and Anne decides the worst is over.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

(breath)

Hahahahahahahahahaha

Okay.

>Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling less. Eight years, almost eight years had passed, since all had been given up. How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval had banished into distance and indistinctness! What might not eight years do? Events of every description, changes, alienations, removals—all, all must be comprised in it, and oblivion of the past— how natural, how certain too! It included nearly a third part of her own life. Alas! with all her reasoning, she found, that to retentive feelings eight years may be little more than nothing. Now, how were his sentiments to be read? Was this like wishing to avoid her? And the next moment she was hating herself for the folly which asked the question.

Back in the spaghetti mush.

Then the biggest baddest knife, from Wentworth.

>she had this spontaneous information from Mary: — "Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne, though he was so attentive to me. Henrietta asked him what he thought of you, when they went away, and he said, `You were so altered he should not have known you again.'"

Thanks Mary. No, really, that was so helpful. How long have you known Anne? That’s right, Mary, you don’t have any outward perception of anyone else. SHE HAS HER FATHER’S EYES.

Then we watch Anne do an alligator death spiral. She is very much desirous of Capt. Wentworth's attentions. She's got hope. So she psychs herself out. No. It's nothing. 8 Years. Just ignore it. It's fine. Just fine.

>'You were so altered he should not have known you again.'"

Which turns into:

>"Anne fully submitted, in silent, deep mortification."

And then,

>"He had thought her wretchedly altered, and in the first moment of appeal, had spoken as he felt. He had not forgiven Anne Elliot."

Just in case you were wondering, we teleport to Wentworth’s thoughts, since it’s always good to know both sides of things so we can yell at Anne when she keeps misreading everything.

Tell me, Wentworth, about what you’re doing with the Miss Musgroves? Do you miss Anne? Do you still think of her? Tell me.

>"Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish match. Anybody between fifteen and thirty may have me for asking. A little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few compliments to the navy, and I am a lost man. Should not this be enough for a sailor, who has had no society among women to make him nice?"

>He said it, she knew, to be contradicted. His bright proud eye spoke the conviction that he was nice; and Anne Elliot was not out of his thoughts, when he more seriously described the woman he should wish to meet with. "A strong mind, with sweetness of manner," made the first and the last of the description.

>"That is the woman I want," said he. "Something a little inferior I shall of course put up with, but it must not be much. If I am a fool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the subject more than most men."

I believe the questions, this time, are built in to the above commentary. Disagreement and
pile-ons are absolutely encouraged.

I remain,
VTY,

S.

Link to Persuasion Read-through master hub:
https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1rdapff/rjaneausten_community_readthrough_hub/

Link to next Chapter 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1sj7cot/persuasion_chapter_8_read_through/

^(1) All quotes are from Persuasion, by Jane Austen, Antique Editions, Kindle Version

^(2) All you doctors and nurses, sit down. I know I’m right. You know I’m right. Also: I am not a Doctor. All scenes are for entertainment purposes only. Do not attempt. Professional Stunt Drivers on Closed Course.

^(3) She absolutely said this. Jane just didn’t write that part down. Also… I doubt she knew the names of any of the bones. “What if,” she supposed, musing out loud, “that sticky outy thingy in his shoulder? Anne, is that the shoulder? Yes, yes, you’re a good little thing. What if that should cause his humors to plummet and he is overwhelmed with black bile? Who will fetch the man with the leeches so he might be saved?” Yes, that’s what was actually said.

In which your pleasant and often confused Miss Ashford is annoyed and miffed at the same time on her first read-through of Persuasion.

We are reading Persuasion, one chapter a week. I have never read this novel, so naturally I'm leading the read. What follows are my reactions on the read.

Please feel free to correct, argue, or discuss why I am not 100% correct. Octavia Butler, if invoked, does not share my opinions. Also, I may make pronounced and very sharp opinions that are also very wrong. Please bookmark these for later chapters when you can say, in a kind of mean whisper, "Remember when you said this thing about Wentworth, Sophia? Do you? Remember?" And goosebumps will go down my arms and I'll whisper back, "I remember it all." And I'll pause, and ask "How did you get my home address?"

Right then. I am totally sacrificing for you all; I must bead a sleeve. Two sleeves, actually. But instead, here I am, slaving over a hot keyboard. Perhaps I will post pictures later.

Chapter 10 follows Chapter 9. "We know, Sophia, get to the point." I am. If you remember, one of Mary's little kneebiters attacked Auntie Anne while she was carefully occupied (author doesn't define--didn't matter). Ahem. So! We open on, what's that show where the host brings out the husband that cheats on his wife with the cousin and everyone throws chairs? That show. Jerry Springer! Only in Anne's thoughts. She's analyzing which of the Miss Musgroves is going to win Wentworth's heart. She places Louisa as the frontrunner, but then decides it's not really love, more like infatuation, and Wentworth is just vibing with it.

Then Charlie Hayter gives up. Dude quits showing up, cedes the field, and there's talk that he's studying himself to death. Anne decides he is wise. Anne is right, of course. Wisest of the bunch. Maybe her too.

You guys, I had to read this line in a twangy Western accent:

One morning, about this time Charles Musgrove and Captain Wentworth being gone a-shooting together[.]

Laugh.

a-shootin'. Reckon that varmint done escaped, Charlie. Raht yew are, Cappie Wentworth. He done escaped.

Ahem. So Charlie "6 shooter" Musgrove and Captain "Tobacco" Wentworth go a-shooting, Mary and Anne are a-working, and the Miss Musgroves a-show up at the a-window. Note: For the Miss Musgroves, this is a-working. Seriously. Those girls can't even give attention to the pianoforte, why do they think they're going to win a man? Alas, we must have obstacle and cost, mustn't we?

Anyway, the little exchange that follows: I shall supply the dialogue captured on hidden camera:

"We are going to take a long walk," Louisa said. "Mary will not want to go with us."

"Oh, yes, I should like to join you very much, I am very fond of a long walk," said Mary. Show don't tell, Jane.

"You won't like it," Anne said. Henrietta smiled at Anne.

"I will. I shall go," Mary said, rising from her chair. She glanced at Anne and retrieved her bonnet.

"Will you come with us, Anne?" the Miss Musgroves said, cordially.

"I will." Anne said. ^(1)

You're right, Austen's version is much better. Shorter. Tell, don't show, Jane.

Poor Mary. She huffs that about not being supposed to be a good walker. Why do you think that is, Mary? If you've heard this opinion more than once, why do you think that is? The woman honestly has never done a word or thought of introspection in her life, not since that White Wedding. Hey little sister, what have you done? I suppose, perhaps, she does introspection, but it's only to correct everyone else's wrongness about her. That main character energy is doing so much work for her. I wonder if she was so insufferable before she married Charlie 6-Shooter?

Speaking of whom, 6 Shooter and Tobacco return with their young dog Spoilsport early because Spoilsport had done the bad thing. They probably did a singsong thing at him, "Spoilsport, spoilsport, can't even find the biiiiirds" like little kids only with guns. Do you ever wonder if all the Austenian men were deaf by the time they turned 32 because of shooting flintlocks and destroying their hearing? The books would read so much better if older gentlemen were all deaf. "Papa, you must go visit the new man." "Wha?" "I SAID YOU MUST GO VISIT THE NEW MAN!"

So 6 and T join up with the party and they set off under the party bosses, the Miss Musgroves (self-appointed). Anne is the only cleric, because her wisdom is 18. I'm not sure what Mary is, but it's definitely an NPC.

Then Anne thinks...

>but, from some feelings of interest and curiosity, she fancied now that it was too late to retract,^(2)

Sure Anne. You're one of those people who claims they slow down to gawk at accidents because "maybe someone needs help," as if you're paramedic or something. Feelings of interest and curiosity, my arse. Then this whole long line of bull-oney where she goes on about fall, isn't it lovely, poetry! So when she happens to catch any conversation between T and the Mussgrove menaces, it's all fine. Really. Just fine. Airy fine. EXCEPT FOR THIS LINE:

>yet she caught little very remarkable. It was mere lively chat, such as any young persons, on an intimate footing, might fall into.

hahahaha she's a judgmental little... er. "Nothing remarkable." Ha! Anne just dissed all you guys. Not very deep conversationalists. Then the little slip about intimate. Not romantic intimate, but certainly headed there. C'mon Anne, do something! Mean girl time: push Louisa into the mud when no one is looking, then slip in... never mind.

Had she heeded my advice, this would not have happened:

>"Ah! You make the most of it, I know," cried Louisa, "but if it were really so, I should do just the same in her place. If I loved a man, as she loves the Admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should ever separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him, than driven safely by anybody else." It was spoken with enthusiasm.

"Had you?" cried he, catching the same tone; "I honour you!" And there was silence between them for a little while.

I will now translate for you, Anne, as the screen fuzzes into an imagined fantasy scene with the music telling us this is just a dream sequence:

"You would make the most of me doing just the same in her place. If I loved you, Captain Wentworth, as she loves the Admiral, I would always be with YOU, nothing should ever separate us, and I would rather be overturned by you, than driven safely by anybody else."
It was spoken with craftiness and subtle sharpness, like Louisa had an agenda and it was in a hurry.

"Had you?" cried he, catching the same tone; "I honour you!"

Meaning: "I'm not sure I'm quite ready to settle for someone like you, but you're pleasant enough company even if you're pressuring like Bennet's mom with a deadline for marrying off her daughters."

Oh, wait. Anne got it. Yeah, that whole "I'm just loving the autumn days with poetry its so beautiful" just stopped dead. QUICK. ANNE. DO SOMETHING. PUSH LOUISA IN TO THE MUD. I've read romances. I know where this is going. She's going to slip and they'll do a meet-kiss. Then we'll spend the next 10 chapters trying to unravel that so that Anne has to do that thing where she interrupts their wedding: "Stop! Don't jump over the broom with her. She's not right for you!" "But we have to post the bans!"

What does Anne do?

She mumbles something. Nobody hears.

AAAARGH. This book could have been so much shorter. No mud. No push. Nothing.

Seriously.

Now the story returns to the main character, Mary, who says "too far, we should go back." Don't you hate that person? When you want to keep pushing? Keep romancing Captain T? And then that one person who you didn't want to invite but did so out of pure necessity and politeness, and then she sabotages the whole trip with a ok-too-far-let's-go-back. And you know that others will agree and it messes everything up.

Wait a minute. We're near Winthrop... where cousin Charles... OH. Mary doesn't want something to screw up... oh. Then Henrietta is like yeah, let's go back and...

Quit laughing, y'all.

Then 6 gun Charlie decides they should call on the aunt. Then Mary and he have a little fight. She immediately contradicts herself, and the lady is pretty obvious that she doesn't want to chance a meeting with the cuz who is studying himself to death. Let's not give him hope, Mary.

Louisa arranges that Henrietta and Charles will run down the hill to see Auntie and she and Cappy will hang out together, spooning. Oh, and Anne and Mary. They can stay too.

ANNE: USE YOUR SPELL SLOTS. Do something. Cast disrupt romance. Burning hands. Word of Magic Autumn Poetry. For void's sake. This is torture. How did she ever captivate him in the first place?

>followed by a contemptuous glance, as he turned away, which Anne perfectly knew the meaning of.

Anne, you're so wise. Except in this whole thing. How is she able to read everyone so well except herself? Physician, heal thyself.

Then Louisa and Wentworth go off on their own (!) to get some... nuts. Mary complains about her seat and decides to go find them. Anne sits down and "happens" to overhear a conversation between L and W.

Shall I recount the conversation for you, reader? In loving detail?

No.

ow you twisted my arm ok. Here.

Louisa proclaims that she's not easily persuaded, blah blah blah, she makes up her mind, Henrietta is a weak-kneed fool. Wenty says he doesn't know what's going on. Then he drops these lines which are clearly meant for Anne to hear and maybe she can get a backbone:

>and woe betide him, and her too, when it comes to things of consequence, when they are placed in circumstances requiring fortitude and strength of mind, if she have not resolution enough to resist idle interference in such a trifle as this. Your sister is an amiable creature; but yours is the character of decision and firmness, I see. If you value her conduct or happiness, infuse as much of your own spirit into her as you can. But this, no doubt, you have been always doing. It is the worst evil of too yielding and indecisive a character, that no influence over it can be depended on. You are never sure of a good impression being durable; everybody may sway it. Let those who would be happy be firm.

MIC DROP.

Wait, that's old, we don't say that anymore. Um...

FULL STOP!

no, also gauche. I don't know how to emphasize when someone really makes their point. I'm unmoored. Wenty made a killer point there. He just stated his thesis.

Then Louisa drops in a little backstory, nothing important. We won't talk about that part.

OKAY OKAY it's important. Quit yelling at me.

>"Mary is good-natured enough in many respects," said she; "but she does sometimes provoke me excessively, by her nonsense and pride— the Elliot pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliot pride. We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead. I suppose you know he wanted to marry Anne?"

No, Louisa, he didn't. Keep gossiping, we're listening. Tell us more!

>After a moment's pause, Captain Wentworth said— "Do you mean that she refused him?"

>"Oh! yes; certainly."

>"When did that happen?"

>"I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at school at the time; but I believe about a year before he married Mary. I wish she had accepted him. We should all have liked her a great deal better; and papa and mamma always think it was her great friend Lady Russell's doing, that she did not. They think Charles might not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and that therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him."

Yeah, those icicles of dread? She could have been in Mary's shoes. GOOD OUTCOME FOR CHARLES. BAD OUTCOME FOR MARY.

Anne maybe gets some good ideas--she's seen how Wentworth viewed her actions, how he'd like her to have been. And the conciliation prize: they liked her better than Mary. That's nice. Real nice.

Everyone gets back together, and Chas. Hayter joins the group, they do a small musical number where they all sing "FAME! I'm going to live forever" while dancing in front of a fountain.

No, that didn't actually happen, reader. Not the dance. Or the song. Instead, they traipsed back to Uppercut, and Louisa and Wentworth are decided! Anne walks with the fighting Musgroves, where Mary and Charles are having a disagreement. Politely. Meanly. Mary has lost a part of her soul with Henrietta and Charles Hayter getting back together. Charles drops her arm to switch the heads of nettles, then he does the ADHD thing and runs after a weasel. I swear, this guy has the attention span of a gibbon.

Then the meet Admiral Croft and the wife in their carriage tooling about the countryside. They offered a ride-- "Back seat goes where the front seat goes!" they said cheerily. Wentworth offloads Anne on to the carriage. Then Mrs. Croft points out how slim Anne is. I like her.

Wentworth puts her in the carriage.

>He could not forgive her, but he could not be unfeeling. Though condemning her for the past, and considering it with high and unjust resentment, though perfectly careless of her, and though becoming attached to another, still he could not see her suffer, without the desire of giving her relief. It was a remainder of former sentiment; it was an impulse of pure, though unacknowledged friendship; it was a proof of his own warm and amiable heart, which she could not contemplate without emotions so compounded of pleasure and pain, that she knew not which prevailed.

This has been a really hard day, diary. You wouldn't believe what I found out about my old boyfriend today, and it culminated with him giving me a carriage ride with his brother and sister. My feelings are so complicated.

Then the Crofts are all "oh, young love, wish Frederick would bring home a girl, he's so indecisive," and then "we didn't wait long" and then Mrs. Croft:

>"Very good humoured, unaffected girls, indeed," said Mrs Croft, in a tone of calmer praise, such as made Anne suspect that her keener powers might not consider either of them as quite worthy of her brother; "and a very respectable family. One could not be connected with better people. My dear Admiral, that post! we shall certainly take that post."

Oh, Mrs. Croft. Did I mention how much I like her?

SHE IS A CLERIC TOO! 18 Wisdom. They should compare notes. DO NOT TALK TO LADY RUSSELL. She will ruin everything.

I found myself safely deposited by Jane at the end of Chapter 10.

You know the rules. Argue well. Or agree. Or shake your fingers and say "just you wait, Enry Iggins!"

I remain,
Vty
Sophia

^(1) OK, OK, don't accuse me of fan fiction. Just that Austen skipped the dialogue, and I, I, couldn't stop myself.

^(2) All quotes are from Persuasion, by Jane Austen, Antique Editions, Kindle Version

Link to Persuasion Read-through master hub: https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1rdapff/rjaneausten_community_readthrough_hub/

Link to prior chapter 9:
https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1sqh73k/persuasion_chapter_9_read_through/

Picture, if you will… a reader, settled comfortably with a cup of tea and a respectable edition of Mansfield Park. The hour is agreeable, the lighting sufficient, and the expectations modest. Chapter Twenty awaits.

She turns the page.

And then… turns it again.

And again.

The same words. The same paragraph. The same polite turn of phrase, repeating with quiet insistence, as though the book itself has a preference. Five times over, the narrative declines to proceed. Five times, it suggests that perhaps—just perhaps—one reading was not enough.

Is this a simple printer’s error? A mechanical lapse somewhere between ink and intention? Or has our reader stumbled into a more peculiar arrangement… one in which time, narrative, and sensibility conspire to hold her where she is?

Because in this edition, progress is not guaranteed. Resolution is deferred. Chapter Twenty is not a step forward… but a corridor with mirrors on every wall.

Submitted for your consideration: a novel that refuses to continue. There’s a chapter heading up ahead. It reads: 20. The Twilight Zone.

https://www.reddit.com/r/janeausten/comments/1svjjg7/my_copy_of_mansfield_park_is_heavily_misprinted/