I especially like that Elizabeth knows and acknowledges the truth about herself.
After many long, inexcusable years, I finally sat down to read a Jane Austen novel; Pride and Prejudice, to be exact. I suppose I had avoided them in my youth because they were the type of thing my sister–a girl, mind you–read. Also, I’d been subjected to the film Sense and Sensibility as a young boy and I’m still not sure what effect that’s had on my disposition ever since. In any case, inspired by my English acquaintances and a sense of nostalgia for literature I picked up the copy off the shelf last week and got to work.
It was delightful, of course. Singing Austen’s praises is a bit absurd at this point; the humor, lively characters, Victorian dialogue, and so forth was a wonderful change of pace from all the theology and biblical studies. (And ladies, I get it. That Mr. Darcy. What gallantry.)
Now, I’ve known for…
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