She had reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by Mr. Crawford. She had heard repeatedly from his sister within the three weeks which had passed since their leaving Mansfield, and in each letter there had been a few lines from himself, warm and determined like his speeches. It was a correspondence which Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared. Miss Crawford's style of writing, lively and affectionate, was itself an evil, independent of what she was thus forced into reading from the brother's pen, for Edmund would never rest till she had read the chief of the letter to him; and then she had to listen to his admiration of her language, and the warmth of her attachments. There had, in fact, been so much of message, of allusion, of recollection, so much of Mansfield in every letter, that Fanny could not but suppose it meant for him to hear; and to find herself forced into a purpose of that kind, compelled into a correspondence which was bringing her the addresses of the man she did not love, and obliging her to administer to the adverse passion of the man she did, was cruelly mortifying. Here, too, her present removal promised advantage. When no longer under the same roof with Edmund, she trusted that Miss Crawford would have no motive for writing strong enough to overcome the trouble, and that at Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindle into nothing.
With such thoughts as these, among ten hundred others, Fanny proceeded in her journey safely and cheerfully, and as expeditiously as could rationally be hoped in the dirty month of February. They entered Oxford, but she could take only a hasty glimpse of Edmund's college as they passed along, and made no stop anywhere till they reached Newbury, where a comfortable meal, uniting dinner and supper, wound up the enjoyments and fatigues of the day.

She knew herself to be not yet forgotten by Mr. Crawford. She had heard repeatedly from his sister since their leaving Mansfield, and in each letter there had been a few lines from himself, warm and determined like his speeches.
It was a correspondence which Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared. Miss Crawford's lively style of writing was itself an evil, for Edmund would never rest till she had read the letter to him; and then she had to listen to his admiration of her language and her warm attachments. There was, in fact, so much of message and allusion in every letter, that Fanny could only suppose it was meant for him to hear; and to find herself compelled into a correspondence which was bringing her the addresses of the man she did not love, and obliging her to administer to the passion of the man she did, was cruelly mortifying. Once she was no longer under the same roof as Edmund, she trusted that Miss Crawford would have less motive for writing, and that at Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindle into nothing.
With such thoughts as these, Fanny proceeded in her journey cheerfully. They made no stop till they reached Newbury, where a comfortable meal wound up the enjoyments and fatigues of the day.
