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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 10/96
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"
Septimus
!
"
said
Rezia
.
He
started
violently
.
People
must
notice
.
"
I
am
going
to
walk
to
the
fountain
and
back
,
"
she
said
.
For
she
could
stand
it
no
longer
.
Dr.
Holmes
might
say
there
was
nothing
the
matter
.
Far
rather
would
she
that
he
were
dead
!
She
could
not
sit
beside
him
when
he
stared
so
and
did
not
see
her
and
made
everything
terrible
;
sky
and
tree
,
children
playing
,
dragging
carts
,
blowing
whistles
,
falling
down
;
all
were
terrible
.
And
he
would
not
kill
himself
;
and
she
could
tell
no
one
.
"
Septimus
has
been
working
too
hard
"
--
that
was
all
she
could
say
to
her
own
mother
.
To
love
makes
one
solitary
,
she
thought
.
She
could
tell
nobody
,
not
even
Septimus
now
,
and
looking
back
,
she
saw
him
sitting
in
his
shabby
overcoat
alone
,
on
the
seat
,
hunched
up
,
staring
.
And
it
was
cowardly
for
a
man
to
say
he
would
kill
himself
,
but
Septimus
had
fought
;
he
was
brave
;
he
was
not
Septimus
now
.
She
put
on
her
lace
collar
.
She
put
on
her
new
hat
and
he
never
noticed
;
and
he
was
happy
without
her
.
Nothing
could
make
her
happy
without
him
!
Nothing
!
He
was
selfish
.
So
men
are
.
For
he
was
not
ill
.
Dr.
Holmes
said
there
was
nothing
the
matter
with
him
.
She
spread
her
hand
before
her
.
Look
!
Her
wedding
ring
slipped
--
she
had
grown
so
thin
.
It
was
she
who
suffered
--
but
she
had
nobody
to
tell
.
Far
was
Italy
and
the
white
houses
and
the
room
where
her
sisters
sat
making
hats
,
and
the
streets
crowded
every
evening
with
people
walking
,
laughing
out
loud
,
not
half
alive
like
people
here
,
huddled
up
in
Bath
chairs
,
looking
at
a
few
ugly
flowers
stuck
in
pots
!
"
For
you
should
see
the
Milan
gardens
,
"
she
said
aloud
.
But
to
whom
?
There
was
nobody
.
Her
words
faded
.
So
a
rocket
fades
.
Its
sparks
,
having
grazed
their
way
into
the
night
,
surrender
to
it
,
dark
descends
,
pours
over
the
outlines
of
houses
and
towers
;
bleak
hillsides
soften
and
fall
in
.
But
though
they
are
gone
,
the
night
is
full
of
them
;
robbed
of
colour
,
blank
of
windows
,
they
exist
more
ponderously
,
give
out
what
the
frank
daylight
fails
to
transmit
--
the
trouble
and
suspense
of
things
conglomerated
there
in
the
darkness
;
huddled
together
in
the
darkness
;
reft
of
the
relief
which
dawn
brings
when
,
washing
the
walls
white
and
grey
,
spotting
each
window-pane
,
lifting
the
mist
from
the
fields
,
showing
the
red-brown
cows
peacefully
grazing
,
all
is
once
more
decked
out
to
the
eye
;
exists
again
.
I
am
alone
;
I
am
alone
!
she
cried
,
by
the
fountain
in
Regent
's
Park
(
staring
at
the
Indian
and
his
cross
)
,
as
perhaps
at
midnight
,
when
all
boundaries
are
lost
,
the
country
reverts
to
its
ancient
shape
,
as
the
Romans
saw
it
,
lying
cloudy
,
when
they
landed
,
and
the
hills
had
no
names
and
rivers
wound
they
knew
not
where
--
such
was
her
darkness
;
when
suddenly
,
as
if
a
shelf
were
shot
forth
and
she
stood
on
it
,
she
said
how
she
was
his
wife
,
married
years
ago
in
Milan
,
his
wife
,
and
would
never
,
never
tell
that
he
was
mad
!
Turning
,
the
shelf
fell
;
down
,
down
she
dropped
.
For
he
was
gone
,
she
thought
--
gone
,
as
he
threatened
,
to
kill
himself
--
to
throw
himself
under
a
cart
!
But
no
;
there
he
was
;
still
sitting
alone
on
the
seat
,
in
his
shabby
overcoat
,
his
legs
crossed
,
staring
,
talking
aloud
.
Men
must
not
cut
down
trees
.
There
is
a
God
.
(
He
noted
such
revelations
on
the
backs
of
envelopes
.
)
Change
the
world
.
No
one
kills
from
hatred
.
Make
it
known
(
he
wrote
it
down
)
.
He
waited
.
He
listened
.
A
sparrow
perched
on
the
railing
opposite
chirped
Septimus
,
Septimus
,
four
or
five
times
over
and
went
on
,
drawing
its
notes
out
,
to
sing
freshly
and
piercingly
in
Greek
words
how
there
is
no
crime
and
,
joined
by
another
sparrow
,
they
sang
in
voices
prolonged
and
piercing
in
Greek
words
,
from
trees
in
the
meadow
of
life
beyond
a
river
where
the
dead
walk
,
how
there
is
no
death
.
There
was
his
hand
;
there
the
dead
.
White
things
were
assembling
behind
the
railings
opposite
.
But
he
dared
not
look
.
