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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 20/96
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Now
of
course
,
thought
Clarissa
,
he
's
enchanting
!
perfectly
enchanting
!
Now
I
remember
how
impossible
it
was
ever
to
make
up
my
mind
--
and
why
did
I
make
up
my
mind
--
not
to
marry
him
?
she
wondered
,
that
awful
summer
?
"
But
it
's
so
extraordinary
that
you
should
have
come
this
morning
!
"
she
cried
,
putting
her
hands
,
one
on
top
of
another
,
down
on
her
dress
.
"
Do
you
remember
,
"
she
said
,
"
how
the
blinds
used
to
flap
at
Bourton
?
"
"
They
did
,
"
he
said
;
and
he
remembered
breakfasting
alone
,
very
awkwardly
,
with
her
father
;
who
had
died
;
and
he
had
not
written
to
Clarissa
.
But
he
had
never
got
on
well
with
old
Parry
,
that
querulous
,
weak-kneed
old
man
,
Clarissa
's
father
,
Justin
Parry
.
"
I
often
wish
I
'd
got
on
better
with
your
father
,
"
he
said
.
"
But
he
never
liked
any
one
who
--
our
friends
,
"
said
Clarissa
;
and
could
have
bitten
her
tongue
for
thus
reminding
Peter
that
he
had
wanted
to
marry
her
.
Of
course
I
did
,
thought
Peter
;
it
almost
broke
my
heart
too
,
he
thought
;
and
was
overcome
with
his
own
grief
,
which
rose
like
a
moon
looked
at
from
a
terrace
,
ghastly
beautiful
with
light
from
the
sunken
day
.
I
was
more
unhappy
than
I
've
ever
been
since
,
he
thought
.
And
as
if
in
truth
he
were
sitting
there
on
the
terrace
he
edged
a
little
towards
Clarissa
;
put
his
hand
out
;
raised
it
;
let
it
fall
.
There
above
them
it
hung
,
that
moon
.
She
too
seemed
to
be
sitting
with
him
on
the
terrace
,
in
the
moonlight
.
"
Herbert
has
it
now
,
"
she
said
.
"
I
never
go
there
now
,
"
she
said
.
Then
,
just
as
happens
on
a
terrace
in
the
moonlight
,
when
one
person
begins
to
feel
ashamed
that
he
is
already
bored
,
and
yet
as
the
other
sits
silent
,
very
quiet
,
sadly
looking
at
the
moon
,
does
not
like
to
speak
,
moves
his
foot
,
clears
his
throat
,
notices
some
iron
scroll
on
a
table
leg
,
stirs
a
leaf
,
but
says
nothing
--
so
Peter
Walsh
did
now
.
For
why
go
back
like
this
to
the
past
?
he
thought
.
Why
make
him
think
of
it
again
?
Why
make
him
suffer
,
when
she
had
tortured
him
so
infernally
?
Why
?
"
Do
you
remember
the
lake
?
"
she
said
,
in
an
abrupt
voice
,
under
the
pressure
of
an
emotion
which
caught
her
heart
,
made
the
muscles
of
her
throat
stiff
,
and
contracted
her
lips
in
a
spasm
as
she
said
"
lake
.
"
For
she
was
a
child
,
throwing
bread
to
the
ducks
,
between
her
parents
,
and
at
the
same
time
a
grown
woman
coming
to
her
parents
who
stood
by
the
lake
,
holding
her
life
in
her
arms
which
,
as
she
neared
them
,
grew
larger
and
larger
in
her
arms
,
until
it
became
a
whole
life
,
a
complete
life
,
which
she
put
down
by
them
and
said
,
"
This
is
what
I
have
made
of
it
!
This
!
"
And
what
had
she
made
of
it
?
What
,
indeed
?
sitting
there
sewing
this
morning
with
Peter
.
