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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 14/96
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"
Mr.
Dalloway
,
ma'am
,
told
me
to
tell
you
he
would
be
lunching
out
.
"
"
Dear
!
"
said
Clarissa
,
and
Lucy
shared
as
she
meant
her
to
her
disappointment
(
but
not
the
pang
)
;
felt
the
concord
between
them
;
took
the
hint
;
thought
how
the
gentry
love
;
gilded
her
own
future
with
calm
;
and
,
taking
Mrs.
Dalloway
's
parasol
,
handled
it
like
a
sacred
weapon
which
a
Goddess
,
having
acquitted
herself
honourably
in
the
field
of
battle
,
sheds
,
and
placed
it
in
the
umbrella
stand
.
"
Fear
no
more
,
"
said
Clarissa
.
Fear
no
more
the
heat
o
'
the
sun
;
for
the
shock
of
Lady
Bruton
asking
Richard
to
lunch
without
her
made
the
moment
in
which
she
had
stood
shiver
,
as
a
plant
on
the
river-bed
feels
the
shock
of
a
passing
oar
and
shivers
:
so
she
rocked
:
so
she
shivered
.
Millicent
Bruton
,
whose
lunch
parties
were
said
to
be
extraordinarily
amusing
,
had
not
asked
her
.
No
vulgar
jealousy
could
separate
her
from
Richard
.
But
she
feared
time
itself
,
and
read
on
Lady
Bruton
's
face
,
as
if
it
had
been
a
dial
cut
in
impassive
stone
,
the
dwindling
of
life
;
how
year
by
year
her
share
was
sliced
;
how
little
the
margin
that
remained
was
capable
any
longer
of
stretching
,
of
absorbing
,
as
in
the
youthful
years
,
the
colours
,
salts
,
tones
of
existence
,
so
that
she
filled
the
room
she
entered
,
and
felt
often
as
she
stood
hesitating
one
moment
on
the
threshold
of
her
drawing-room
,
an
exquisite
suspense
,
such
as
might
stay
a
diver
before
plunging
while
the
sea
darkens
and
brightens
beneath
him
,
and
the
waves
which
threaten
to
break
,
but
only
gently
split
their
surface
,
roll
and
conceal
and
encrust
as
they
just
turn
over
the
weeds
with
pearl
.
She
put
the
pad
on
the
hall
table
.
She
began
to
go
slowly
upstairs
,
with
her
hand
on
the
bannisters
,
as
if
she
had
left
a
party
,
where
now
this
friend
now
that
had
flashed
back
her
face
,
her
voice
;
had
shut
the
door
and
gone
out
and
stood
alone
,
a
single
figure
against
the
appalling
night
,
or
rather
,
to
be
accurate
,
against
the
stare
of
this
matter-of-fact
June
morning
;
soft
with
the
glow
of
rose
petals
for
some
,
she
knew
,
and
felt
it
,
as
she
paused
by
the
open
staircase
window
which
let
in
blinds
flapping
,
dogs
barking
,
let
in
,
she
thought
,
feeling
herself
suddenly
shrivelled
,
aged
,
breastless
,
the
grinding
,
blowing
,
flowering
of
the
day
,
out
of
doors
,
out
of
the
window
,
out
of
her
body
and
brain
which
now
failed
,
since
Lady
Bruton
,
whose
lunch
parties
were
said
to
be
extraordinarily
amusing
,
had
not
asked
her
.
Like
a
nun
withdrawing
,
or
a
child
exploring
a
tower
,
she
went
upstairs
,
paused
at
the
window
,
came
to
the
bathroom
.
There
was
the
green
linoleum
and
a
tap
dripping
.
There
was
an
emptiness
about
the
heart
of
life
;
an
attic
room
.
Women
must
put
off
their
rich
apparel
.
At
midday
they
must
disrobe
.
She
pierced
the
pincushion
and
laid
her
feathered
yellow
hat
on
the
bed
.
The
sheets
were
clean
,
tight
stretched
in
a
broad
white
band
from
side
to
side
.
Narrower
and
narrower
would
her
bed
be
.
The
candle
was
half
burnt
down
and
she
had
read
deep
in
Baron
Marbot
's
Memoirs
.
She
had
read
late
at
night
of
the
retreat
from
Moscow
.
For
the
House
sat
so
long
that
Richard
insisted
,
after
her
illness
,
that
she
must
sleep
undisturbed
.
And
really
she
preferred
to
read
of
the
retreat
from
Moscow
.
He
knew
it
.
So
the
room
was
an
attic
;
the
bed
narrow
;
and
lying
there
reading
,
for
she
slept
badly
,
she
could
not
dispel
a
virginity
preserved
through
childbirth
which
clung
to
her
like
a
sheet
.
Lovely
in
girlhood
,
suddenly
there
came
a
moment
--
for
example
on
the
river
beneath
the
woods
at
Clieveden
--
when
,
through
some
contraction
of
this
cold
spirit
,
she
had
failed
him
.
And
then
at
Constantinople
,
and
again
and
again
.
She
could
see
what
she
lacked
.
It
was
not
beauty
;
it
was
not
mind
.
It
was
something
central
which
permeated
;
something
warm
which
broke
up
surfaces
and
rippled
the
cold
contact
of
man
and
woman
,
or
of
women
together
.
For
THAT
she
could
dimly
perceive
.
She
resented
it
,
had
a
scruple
picked
up
Heaven
knows
where
,
or
,
as
she
felt
,
sent
by
Nature
(
who
is
invariably
wise
)
;
yet
she
could
not
resist
sometimes
yielding
to
the
charm
of
a
woman
,
not
a
girl
,
of
a
woman
confessing
,
as
to
her
they
often
did
,
some
scrape
,
some
folly
.
And
whether
it
was
pity
,
or
their
beauty
,
or
that
she
was
older
,
or
some
accident
--
like
a
faint
scent
,
or
a
violin
next
door
(
so
strange
is
the
power
of
sounds
at
certain
moments
)
,
she
did
undoubtedly
then
feel
what
men
felt
.
Only
for
a
moment
;
but
it
was
enough
.
It
was
a
sudden
revelation
,
a
tinge
like
a
blush
which
one
tried
to
check
and
then
,
as
it
spread
,
one
yielded
to
its
expansion
,
and
rushed
to
the
farthest
verge
and
there
quivered
and
felt
the
world
come
closer
,
swollen
with
some
astonishing
significance
,
some
pressure
of
rapture
,
which
split
its
thin
skin
and
gushed
and
poured
with
an
extraordinary
alleviation
over
the
cracks
and
sores
!
Then
,
for
that
moment
,
she
had
seen
an
illumination
;
a
match
burning
in
a
crocus
;
an
inner
meaning
almost
expressed
.
But
the
close
withdrew
;
the
hard
softened
.
It
was
over
--
the
moment
.
Against
such
moments
(
with
women
too
)
there
contrasted
(
as
she
laid
her
hat
down
)
the
bed
and
Baron
Marbot
and
the
candle
half-burnt
.
Lying
awake
,
the
floor
creaked
;
the
lit
house
was
suddenly
darkened
,
and
if
she
raised
her
head
she
could
just
hear
the
click
of
the
handle
released
as
gently
as
possible
by
Richard
,
who
slipped
upstairs
in
his
socks
and
then
,
as
often
as
not
,
dropped
his
hot-water
bottle
and
swore
!
How
she
laughed
!
