Every line, every word was—in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here, would forbid—a dagger to my heart. to know that marianne was in town was—in the same language—a thunderbolt.—thunderbolts and daggers! —what a reproof would she have given me! —her taste, her opinions—i believe they are better known to me than my own,—and i am sure they are dearer. in sense and sensibility, willoughby’s long confession to elinor produces in her all of the following reactions except a slightly improved opinion of willoughby’s heart a compassionate pity for sophia’s loveless marriage a wise assessment of the dangers of spoiling a young man with money a deep fear that relaying his message to marianne will cause her to fall ill again