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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 27/96
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Well
,
I
've
had
my
fun
;
I
've
had
it
,
he
thought
,
looking
up
at
the
swinging
baskets
of
pale
geraniums
.
And
it
was
smashed
to
atoms
--
his
fun
,
for
it
was
half
made
up
,
as
he
knew
very
well
;
invented
,
this
escapade
with
the
girl
;
made
up
,
as
one
makes
up
the
better
part
of
life
,
he
thought
--
making
oneself
up
;
making
her
up
;
creating
an
exquisite
amusement
,
and
something
more
.
But
odd
it
was
,
and
quite
true
;
all
this
one
could
never
share
--
it
smashed
to
atoms
.
He
turned
;
went
up
the
street
,
thinking
to
find
somewhere
to
sit
,
till
it
was
time
for
Lincoln
's
Inn
--
for
Messrs.
Hooper
and
Grateley
.
Where
should
he
go
?
No
matter
.
Up
the
street
,
then
,
towards
Regent
's
Park
.
His
boots
on
the
pavement
struck
out
"
no
matter
"
;
for
it
was
early
,
still
very
early
.
It
was
a
splendid
morning
too
.
Like
the
pulse
of
a
perfect
heart
,
life
struck
straight
through
the
streets
.
There
was
no
fumbling
--
no
hesitation
.
Sweeping
and
swerving
,
accurately
,
punctually
,
noiselessly
,
there
,
precisely
at
the
right
instant
,
the
motor-car
stopped
at
the
door
.
The
girl
,
silk-stockinged
,
feathered
,
evanescent
,
but
not
to
him
particularly
attractive
(
for
he
had
had
his
fling
)
,
alighted
.
Admirable
butlers
,
tawny
chow
dogs
,
halls
laid
in
black
and
white
lozenges
with
white
blinds
blowing
,
Peter
saw
through
the
opened
door
and
approved
of
.
A
splendid
achievement
in
its
own
way
,
after
all
,
London
;
the
season
;
civilisation
.
Coming
as
he
did
from
a
respectable
Anglo-Indian
family
which
for
at
least
three
generations
had
administered
the
affairs
of
a
continent
(
it
's
strange
,
he
thought
,
what
a
sentiment
I
have
about
that
,
disliking
India
,
and
empire
,
and
army
as
he
did
)
,
there
were
moments
when
civilisation
,
even
of
this
sort
,
seemed
dear
to
him
as
a
personal
possession
;
moments
of
pride
in
England
;
in
butlers
;
chow
dogs
;
girls
in
their
security
.
Ridiculous
enough
,
still
there
it
is
,
he
thought
.
And
the
doctors
and
men
of
business
and
capable
women
all
going
about
their
business
,
punctual
,
alert
,
robust
,
seemed
to
him
wholly
admirable
,
good
fellows
,
to
whom
one
would
entrust
one
's
life
,
companions
in
the
art
of
living
,
who
would
see
one
through
.
What
with
one
thing
and
another
,
the
show
was
really
very
tolerable
;
and
he
would
sit
down
in
the
shade
and
smoke
.
There
was
Regent
's
Park
.
Yes
.
As
a
child
he
had
walked
in
Regent
's
Park
--
odd
,
he
thought
,
how
the
thought
of
childhood
keeps
coming
back
to
me
--
the
result
of
seeing
Clarissa
,
perhaps
;
for
women
live
much
more
in
the
past
than
we
do
,
he
thought
.
They
attach
themselves
to
places
;
and
their
fathers
--
a
woman
's
always
proud
of
her
father
.
Bourton
was
a
nice
place
,
a
very
nice
place
,
but
I
could
never
get
on
with
the
old
man
,
he
thought
.
There
was
quite
a
scene
one
night
--
an
argument
about
something
or
other
,
what
,
he
could
not
remember
.
Politics
presumably
.
Yes
,
he
remembered
Regent
's
Park
;
the
long
straight
walk
;
the
little
house
where
one
bought
air-balls
to
the
left
;
an
absurd
statue
with
an
inscription
somewhere
or
other
.
He
looked
for
an
empty
seat
.
He
did
not
want
to
be
bothered
(
feeling
a
little
drowsy
as
he
did
)
by
people
asking
him
the
time
.
An
elderly
grey
nurse
,
with
a
baby
asleep
in
its
perambulator
--
that
was
the
best
he
could
do
for
himself
;
sit
down
at
the
far
end
of
the
seat
by
that
nurse
.
She
's
a
queer-looking
girl
,
he
thought
,
suddenly
remembering
Elizabeth
as
she
came
into
the
room
and
stood
by
her
mother
.
Grown
big
;
quite
grown-up
,
not
exactly
pretty
;
handsome
rather
;
and
she
ca
n't
be
more
than
eighteen
.
Probably
she
does
n't
get
on
with
Clarissa
.
"
There
's
my
Elizabeth
"
--
that
sort
of
thing
--
why
not
"
Here
's
Elizabeth
"
simply
?
--
trying
to
make
out
,
like
most
mothers
,
that
things
are
what
they
're
not
.
She
trusts
to
her
charm
too
much
,
he
thought
.
She
overdoes
it
.
The
rich
benignant
cigar
smoke
eddied
coolly
down
his
throat
;
he
puffed
it
out
again
in
rings
which
breasted
the
air
bravely
for
a
moment
;
blue
,
circular
--
I
shall
try
and
get
a
word
alone
with
Elizabeth
to-night
,
he
thought
--
then
began
to
wobble
into
hour-glass
shapes
and
taper
away
;
odd
shapes
they
take
,
he
thought
.
Suddenly
he
closed
his
eyes
,
raised
his
hand
with
an
effort
,
and
threw
away
the
heavy
end
of
his
cigar
.
A
great
brush
swept
smooth
across
his
mind
,
sweeping
across
it
moving
branches
,
children
's
voices
,
the
shuffle
of
feet
,
and
people
passing
,
and
humming
traffic
,
rising
and
falling
traffic
.
Down
,
down
he
sank
into
the
plumes
and
feathers
of
sleep
,
sank
,
and
was
muffled
over
.
The
grey
nurse
resumed
her
knitting
as
Peter
Walsh
,
on
the
hot
seat
beside
her
,
began
snoring
.
In
her
grey
dress
,
moving
her
hands
indefatigably
yet
quietly
,
she
seemed
like
the
champion
of
the
rights
of
sleepers
,
like
one
of
those
spectral
presences
which
rise
in
twilight
in
woods
made
of
sky
and
branches
.
The
solitary
traveller
,
haunter
of
lanes
,
disturber
of
ferns
,
and
devastator
of
great
hemlock
plants
,
looking
up
,
suddenly
sees
the
giant
figure
at
the
end
of
the
ride
.
