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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 16/96
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All
this
was
only
a
background
for
Sally
.
She
stood
by
the
fireplace
talking
,
in
that
beautiful
voice
which
made
everything
she
said
sound
like
a
caress
,
to
Papa
,
who
had
begun
to
be
attracted
rather
against
his
will
(
he
never
got
over
lending
her
one
of
his
books
and
finding
it
soaked
on
the
terrace
)
,
when
suddenly
she
said
,
"
What
a
shame
to
sit
indoors
!
"
and
they
all
went
out
on
to
the
terrace
and
walked
up
and
down
.
Peter
Walsh
and
Joseph
Breitkopf
went
on
about
Wagner
.
She
and
Sally
fell
a
little
behind
.
Then
came
the
most
exquisite
moment
of
her
whole
life
passing
a
stone
urn
with
flowers
in
it
.
Sally
stopped
;
picked
a
flower
;
kissed
her
on
the
lips
.
The
whole
world
might
have
turned
upside
down
!
The
others
disappeared
;
there
she
was
alone
with
Sally
.
And
she
felt
that
she
had
been
given
a
present
,
wrapped
up
,
and
told
just
to
keep
it
,
not
to
look
at
it
--
a
diamond
,
something
infinitely
precious
,
wrapped
up
,
which
,
as
they
walked
(
up
and
down
,
up
and
down
)
,
she
uncovered
,
or
the
radiance
burnt
through
,
the
revelation
,
the
religious
feeling
!
--
when
old
Joseph
and
Peter
faced
them
:
"
Star-gazing
?
"
said
Peter
.
It
was
like
running
one
's
face
against
a
granite
wall
in
the
darkness
!
It
was
shocking
;
it
was
horrible
!
Not
for
herself
.
She
felt
only
how
Sally
was
being
mauled
already
,
maltreated
;
she
felt
his
hostility
;
his
jealousy
;
his
determination
to
break
into
their
companionship
.
All
this
she
saw
as
one
sees
a
landscape
in
a
flash
of
lightning
--
and
Sally
(
never
had
she
admired
her
so
much
!
)
gallantly
taking
her
way
unvanquished
.
She
laughed
.
She
made
old
Joseph
tell
her
the
names
of
the
stars
,
which
he
liked
doing
very
seriously
.
She
stood
there
:
she
listened
.
She
heard
the
names
of
the
stars
.
"
Oh
this
horror
!
"
she
said
to
herself
,
as
if
she
had
known
all
along
that
something
would
interrupt
,
would
embitter
her
moment
of
happiness
.
Yet
,
after
all
,
how
much
she
owed
to
him
later
.
Always
when
she
thought
of
him
she
thought
of
their
quarrels
for
some
reason
--
because
she
wanted
his
good
opinion
so
much
,
perhaps
.
She
owed
him
words
:
"
sentimental
,
"
"
civilised
"
;
they
started
up
every
day
of
her
life
as
if
he
guarded
her
.
A
book
was
sentimental
;
an
attitude
to
life
sentimental
.
"
Sentimental
,
"
perhaps
she
was
to
be
thinking
of
the
past
.
What
would
he
think
,
she
wondered
,
when
he
came
back
?
That
she
had
grown
older
?
Would
he
say
that
,
or
would
she
see
him
thinking
when
he
came
back
,
that
she
had
grown
older
?
It
was
true
.
Since
her
illness
she
had
turned
almost
white
.
Laying
her
brooch
on
the
table
,
she
had
a
sudden
spasm
,
as
if
,
while
she
mused
,
the
icy
claws
had
had
the
chance
to
fix
in
her
.
She
was
not
old
yet
.
She
had
just
broken
into
her
fifty-second
year
.
Months
and
months
of
it
were
still
untouched
.
June
,
July
,
August
!
Each
still
remained
almost
whole
,
and
,
as
if
to
catch
the
falling
drop
,
Clarissa
(
crossing
to
the
dressing-table
)
plunged
into
the
very
heart
of
the
moment
,
transfixed
it
,
there
--
the
moment
of
this
June
morning
on
which
was
the
pressure
of
all
the
other
mornings
,
seeing
the
glass
,
the
dressing-table
,
and
all
the
bottles
afresh
,
collecting
the
whole
of
her
at
one
point
(
as
she
looked
into
the
glass
)
,
seeing
the
delicate
pink
face
of
the
woman
who
was
that
very
night
to
give
a
party
;
of
Clarissa
Dalloway
;
of
herself
.
