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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 26/96
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I
ca
n't
keep
up
with
them
,
Peter
Walsh
thought
,
as
they
marched
up
Whitehall
,
and
sure
enough
,
on
they
marched
,
past
him
,
past
every
one
,
in
their
steady
way
,
as
if
one
will
worked
legs
and
arms
uniformly
,
and
life
,
with
its
varieties
,
its
irreticences
,
had
been
laid
under
a
pavement
of
monuments
and
wreaths
and
drugged
into
a
stiff
yet
staring
corpse
by
discipline
.
One
had
to
respect
it
;
one
might
laugh
;
but
one
had
to
respect
it
,
he
thought
.
There
they
go
,
thought
Peter
Walsh
,
pausing
at
the
edge
of
the
pavement
;
and
all
the
exalted
statues
,
Nelson
,
Gordon
,
Havelock
,
the
black
,
the
spectacular
images
of
great
soldiers
stood
looking
ahead
of
them
,
as
if
they
too
had
made
the
same
renunciation
(
Peter
Walsh
felt
he
too
had
made
it
,
the
great
renunciation
)
,
trampled
under
the
same
temptations
,
and
achieved
at
length
a
marble
stare
.
But
the
stare
Peter
Walsh
did
not
want
for
himself
in
the
least
;
though
he
could
respect
it
in
others
.
He
could
respect
it
in
boys
.
They
do
n't
know
the
troubles
of
the
flesh
yet
,
he
thought
,
as
the
marching
boys
disappeared
in
the
direction
of
the
Strand
--
all
that
I
've
been
through
,
he
thought
,
crossing
the
road
,
and
standing
under
Gordon
's
statue
,
Gordon
whom
as
a
boy
he
had
worshipped
;
Gordon
standing
lonely
with
one
leg
raised
and
his
arms
crossed
--
poor
Gordon
,
he
thought
.
And
just
because
nobody
yet
knew
he
was
in
London
,
except
Clarissa
,
and
the
earth
,
after
the
voyage
,
still
seemed
an
island
to
him
,
the
strangeness
of
standing
alone
,
alive
,
unknown
,
at
half-past
eleven
in
Trafalgar
Square
overcame
him
.
What
is
it
?
Where
am
I
?
And
why
,
after
all
,
does
one
do
it
?
he
thought
,
the
divorce
seeming
all
moonshine
.
And
down
his
mind
went
flat
as
a
marsh
,
and
three
great
emotions
bowled
over
him
;
understanding
;
a
vast
philanthropy
;
and
finally
,
as
if
the
result
of
the
others
,
an
irrepressible
,
exquisite
delight
;
as
if
inside
his
brain
by
another
hand
strings
were
pulled
,
shutters
moved
,
and
he
,
having
nothing
to
do
with
it
,
yet
stood
at
the
opening
of
endless
avenues
,
down
which
if
he
chose
he
might
wander
.
He
had
not
felt
so
young
for
years
.
He
had
escaped
!
was
utterly
free
--
as
happens
in
the
downfall
of
habit
when
the
mind
,
like
an
unguarded
flame
,
bows
and
bends
and
seems
about
to
blow
from
its
holding
.
I
have
n't
felt
so
young
for
years
!
thought
Peter
,
escaping
(
only
of
course
for
an
hour
or
so
)
from
being
precisely
what
he
was
,
and
feeling
like
a
child
who
runs
out
of
doors
,
and
sees
,
as
he
runs
,
his
old
nurse
waving
at
the
wrong
window
.
But
she
's
extraordinarily
attractive
,
he
thought
,
as
,
walking
across
Trafalgar
Square
in
the
direction
of
the
Haymarket
,
came
a
young
woman
who
,
as
she
passed
Gordon
's
statue
,
seemed
,
Peter
Walsh
thought
(
susceptible
as
he
was
)
,
to
shed
veil
after
veil
,
until
she
became
the
very
woman
he
had
always
had
in
mind
;
young
,
but
stately
;
merry
,
but
discreet
;
black
,
but
enchanting
.
Straightening
himself
and
stealthily
fingering
his
pocket-knife
he
started
after
her
to
follow
this
woman
,
this
excitement
,
which
seemed
even
with
its
back
turned
to
shed
on
him
a
light
which
connected
them
,
which
singled
him
out
,
as
if
the
random
uproar
of
the
traffic
had
whispered
through
hollowed
hands
his
name
,
not
Peter
,
but
his
private
name
which
he
called
himself
in
his
own
thoughts
.
"
You
,
"
she
said
,
only
"
you
,
"
saying
it
with
her
white
gloves
and
her
shoulders
.
Then
the
thin
long
cloak
which
the
wind
stirred
as
she
walked
past
Dent
's
shop
in
Cockspur
Street
blew
out
with
an
enveloping
kindness
,
a
mournful
tenderness
,
as
of
arms
that
would
open
and
take
the
tired
--
But
she
's
not
married
;
she
's
young
;
quite
young
,
thought
Peter
,
the
red
carnation
he
had
seen
her
wear
as
she
came
across
Trafalgar
Square
burning
again
in
his
eyes
and
making
her
lips
red
.
But
she
waited
at
the
kerbstone
.
There
was
a
dignity
about
her
.
She
was
not
worldly
,
like
Clarissa
;
not
rich
,
like
Clarissa
.
Was
she
,
he
wondered
as
she
moved
,
respectable
?
Witty
,
with
a
lizard
's
flickering
tongue
,
he
thought
(
for
one
must
invent
,
must
allow
oneself
a
little
diversion
)
,
a
cool
waiting
wit
,
a
darting
wit
;
not
noisy
.
She
moved
;
she
crossed
;
he
followed
her
.
To
embarrass
her
was
the
last
thing
he
wished
.
Still
if
she
stopped
he
would
say
"
Come
and
have
an
ice
,
"
he
would
say
,
and
she
would
answer
,
perfectly
simply
,
"
Oh
yes
.
"
But
other
people
got
between
them
in
the
street
,
obstructing
him
,
blotting
her
out
.
He
pursued
;
she
changed
.
There
was
colour
in
her
cheeks
;
mockery
in
her
eyes
;
he
was
an
adventurer
,
reckless
,
he
thought
,
swift
,
daring
,
indeed
(
landed
as
he
was
last
night
from
India
)
a
romantic
buccaneer
,
careless
of
all
these
damned
proprieties
,
yellow
dressing-gowns
,
pipes
,
fishing-rods
,
in
the
shop
windows
;
and
respectability
and
evening
parties
and
spruce
old
men
wearing
white
slips
beneath
their
waistcoats
.
He
was
a
buccaneer
.
On
and
on
she
went
,
across
Piccadilly
,
and
up
Regent
Street
,
ahead
of
him
,
her
cloak
,
her
gloves
,
her
shoulders
combining
with
the
fringes
and
the
laces
and
the
feather
boas
in
the
windows
to
make
the
spirit
of
finery
and
whimsy
which
dwindled
out
of
the
shops
on
to
the
pavement
,
as
the
light
of
a
lamp
goes
wavering
at
night
over
hedges
in
the
darkness
.
Laughing
and
delightful
,
she
had
crossed
Oxford
Street
and
Great
Portland
Street
and
turned
down
one
of
the
little
streets
,
and
now
,
and
now
,
the
great
moment
was
approaching
,
for
now
she
slackened
,
opened
her
bag
,
and
with
one
look
in
his
direction
,
but
not
at
him
,
one
look
that
bade
farewell
,
summed
up
the
whole
situation
and
dismissed
it
triumphantly
,
for
ever
,
had
fitted
her
key
,
opened
the
door
,
and
gone
!
Clarissa
's
voice
saying
,
Remember
my
party
,
Remember
my
party
,
sang
in
his
ears
.
The
house
was
one
of
those
flat
red
houses
with
hanging
flower-baskets
of
vague
impropriety
.
It
was
over
.
