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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 21/96
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She
looked
at
Peter
Walsh
;
her
look
,
passing
through
all
that
time
and
that
emotion
,
reached
him
doubtfully
;
settled
on
him
tearfully
;
and
rose
and
fluttered
away
,
as
a
bird
touches
a
branch
and
rises
and
flutters
away
.
Quite
simply
she
wiped
her
eyes
.
"
Yes
,
"
said
Peter
.
"
Yes
,
yes
,
yes
,
"
he
said
,
as
if
she
drew
up
to
the
surface
something
which
positively
hurt
him
as
it
rose
.
Stop
!
Stop
!
he
wanted
to
cry
.
For
he
was
not
old
;
his
life
was
not
over
;
not
by
any
means
.
He
was
only
just
past
fifty
.
Shall
I
tell
her
,
he
thought
,
or
not
?
He
would
like
to
make
a
clean
breast
of
it
all
.
But
she
is
too
cold
,
he
thought
;
sewing
,
with
her
scissors
;
Daisy
would
look
ordinary
beside
Clarissa
.
And
she
would
think
me
a
failure
,
which
I
am
in
their
sense
,
he
thought
;
in
the
Dalloways
'
sense
.
Oh
yes
,
he
had
no
doubt
about
that
;
he
was
a
failure
,
compared
with
all
this
--
the
inlaid
table
,
the
mounted
paper-knife
,
the
dolphin
and
the
candlesticks
,
the
chair-covers
and
the
old
valuable
English
tinted
prints
--
he
was
a
failure
!
I
detest
the
smugness
of
the
whole
affair
,
he
thought
;
Richard
's
doing
,
not
Clarissa
's
;
save
that
she
married
him
.
(
Here
Lucy
came
into
the
room
,
carrying
silver
,
more
silver
,
but
charming
,
slender
,
graceful
she
looked
,
he
thought
,
as
she
stooped
to
put
it
down
.
)
And
this
has
been
going
on
all
the
time
!
he
thought
;
week
after
week
;
Clarissa
's
life
;
while
I
--
he
thought
;
and
at
once
everything
seemed
to
radiate
from
him
;
journeys
;
rides
;
quarrels
;
adventures
;
bridge
parties
;
love
affairs
;
work
;
work
,
work
!
and
he
took
out
his
knife
quite
openly
--
his
old
horn-handled
knife
which
Clarissa
could
swear
he
had
had
these
thirty
years
--
and
clenched
his
fist
upon
it
.
What
an
extraordinary
habit
that
was
,
Clarissa
thought
;
always
playing
with
a
knife
.
Always
making
one
feel
,
too
,
frivolous
;
empty-minded
;
a
mere
silly
chatterbox
,
as
he
used
.
But
I
too
,
she
thought
,
and
,
taking
up
her
needle
,
summoned
,
like
a
Queen
whose
guards
have
fallen
asleep
and
left
her
unprotected
(
she
had
been
quite
taken
aback
by
this
visit
--
it
had
upset
her
)
so
that
any
one
can
stroll
in
and
have
a
look
at
her
where
she
lies
with
the
brambles
curving
over
her
,
summoned
to
her
help
the
things
she
did
;
the
things
she
liked
;
her
husband
;
Elizabeth
;
her
self
,
in
short
,
which
Peter
hardly
knew
now
,
all
to
come
about
her
and
beat
off
the
enemy
.
"
Well
,
and
what
's
happened
to
you
?
"
she
said
.
So
before
a
battle
begins
,
the
horses
paw
the
ground
;
toss
their
heads
;
the
light
shines
on
their
flanks
;
their
necks
curve
.
So
Peter
Walsh
and
Clarissa
,
sitting
side
by
side
on
the
blue
sofa
,
challenged
each
other
.
His
powers
chafed
and
tossed
in
him
.
He
assembled
from
different
quarters
all
sorts
of
things
;
praise
;
his
career
at
Oxford
;
his
marriage
,
which
she
knew
nothing
whatever
about
;
how
he
had
loved
;
and
altogether
done
his
job
.
"
Millions
of
things
!
"
he
exclaimed
,
and
,
urged
by
the
assembly
of
powers
which
were
now
charging
this
way
and
that
and
giving
him
the
feeling
at
once
frightening
and
extremely
exhilarating
of
being
rushed
through
the
air
on
the
shoulders
of
people
he
could
no
longer
see
,
he
raised
his
hands
to
his
forehead
.
Clarissa
sat
very
upright
;
drew
in
her
breath
.
"
I
am
in
love
,
"
he
said
,
not
to
her
however
,
but
to
some
one
raised
up
in
the
dark
so
that
you
could
not
touch
her
but
must
lay
your
garland
down
on
the
grass
in
the
dark
.
"
In
love
,
"
he
repeated
,
now
speaking
rather
dryly
to
Clarissa
Dalloway
;
"
in
love
with
a
girl
in
India
.
"
He
had
deposited
his
garland
.
Clarissa
could
make
what
she
would
of
it
.
