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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 33/96
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He
dropped
her
hand
.
Their
marriage
was
over
,
he
thought
,
with
agony
,
with
relief
.
The
rope
was
cut
;
he
mounted
;
he
was
free
,
as
it
was
decreed
that
he
,
Septimus
,
the
lord
of
men
,
should
be
free
;
alone
(
since
his
wife
had
thrown
away
her
wedding
ring
;
since
she
had
left
him
)
,
he
,
Septimus
,
was
alone
,
called
forth
in
advance
of
the
mass
of
men
to
hear
the
truth
,
to
learn
the
meaning
,
which
now
at
last
,
after
all
the
toils
of
civilisation
--
Greeks
,
Romans
,
Shakespeare
,
Darwin
,
and
now
himself
--
was
to
be
given
whole
to
...
"
To
whom
?
"
he
asked
aloud
.
"
To
the
Prime
Minister
,
"
the
voices
which
rustled
above
his
head
replied
.
The
supreme
secret
must
be
told
to
the
Cabinet
;
first
that
trees
are
alive
;
next
there
is
no
crime
;
next
love
,
universal
love
,
he
muttered
,
gasping
,
trembling
,
painfully
drawing
out
these
profound
truths
which
needed
,
so
deep
were
they
,
so
difficult
,
an
immense
effort
to
speak
out
,
but
the
world
was
entirely
changed
by
them
for
ever
.
No
crime
;
love
;
he
repeated
,
fumbling
for
his
card
and
pencil
,
when
a
Skye
terrier
snuffed
his
trousers
and
he
started
in
an
agony
of
fear
.
It
was
turning
into
a
man
!
He
could
not
watch
it
happen
!
It
was
horrible
,
terrible
to
see
a
dog
become
a
man
!
At
once
the
dog
trotted
away
.
Heaven
was
divinely
merciful
,
infinitely
benignant
.
It
spared
him
,
pardoned
his
weakness
.
But
what
was
the
scientific
explanation
(
for
one
must
be
scientific
above
all
things
)
?
Why
could
he
see
through
bodies
,
see
into
the
future
,
when
dogs
will
become
men
?
It
was
the
heat
wave
presumably
,
operating
upon
a
brain
made
sensitive
by
eons
of
evolution
.
Scientifically
speaking
,
the
flesh
was
melted
off
the
world
.
His
body
was
macerated
until
only
the
nerve
fibres
were
left
.
It
was
spread
like
a
veil
upon
a
rock
.
He
lay
back
in
his
chair
,
exhausted
but
upheld
.
He
lay
resting
,
waiting
,
before
he
again
interpreted
,
with
effort
,
with
agony
,
to
mankind
.
He
lay
very
high
,
on
the
back
of
the
world
.
The
earth
thrilled
beneath
him
.
Red
flowers
grew
through
his
flesh
;
their
stiff
leaves
rustled
by
his
head
.
Music
began
clanging
against
the
rocks
up
here
.
It
is
a
motor
horn
down
in
the
street
,
he
muttered
;
but
up
here
it
cannoned
from
rock
to
rock
,
divided
,
met
in
shocks
of
sound
which
rose
in
smooth
columns
(
that
music
should
be
visible
was
a
discovery
)
and
became
an
anthem
,
an
anthem
twined
round
now
by
a
shepherd
boy
's
piping
(
That
's
an
old
man
playing
a
penny
whistle
by
the
public-house
,
he
muttered
)
which
,
as
the
boy
stood
still
came
bubbling
from
his
pipe
,
and
then
,
as
he
climbed
higher
,
made
its
exquisite
plaint
while
the
traffic
passed
beneath
.
This
boy
's
elegy
is
played
among
the
traffic
,
thought
Septimus
.
Now
he
withdraws
up
into
the
snows
,
and
roses
hang
about
him
--
the
thick
red
roses
which
grow
on
my
bedroom
wall
,
he
reminded
himself
.
The
music
stopped
.
He
has
his
penny
,
he
reasoned
it
out
,
and
has
gone
on
to
the
next
public-house
.
But
he
himself
remained
high
on
his
rock
,
like
a
drowned
sailor
on
a
rock
.
I
leant
over
the
edge
of
the
boat
and
fell
down
,
he
thought
.
I
went
under
the
sea
.
I
have
been
dead
,
and
yet
am
now
alive
,
but
let
me
rest
still
;
he
begged
(
he
was
talking
to
himself
again
--
it
was
awful
,
awful
!
)
;
and
as
,
before
waking
,
the
voices
of
birds
and
the
sound
of
wheels
chime
and
chatter
in
a
queer
harmony
,
grow
louder
and
louder
and
the
sleeper
feels
himself
drawing
to
the
shores
of
life
,
so
he
felt
himself
drawing
towards
life
,
the
sun
growing
hotter
,
cries
sounding
louder
,
something
tremendous
about
to
happen
.
He
had
only
to
open
his
eyes
;
but
a
weight
was
on
them
;
a
fear
.
He
strained
;
he
pushed
;
he
looked
;
he
saw
Regent
's
Park
before
him
.
Long
streamers
of
sunlight
fawned
at
his
feet
.
The
trees
waved
,
brandished
.
We
welcome
,
the
world
seemed
to
say
;
we
accept
;
we
create
.
Beauty
,
the
world
seemed
to
say
.
And
as
if
to
prove
it
(
scientifically
)
wherever
he
looked
at
the
houses
,
at
the
railings
,
at
the
antelopes
stretching
over
the
palings
,
beauty
sprang
instantly
.
To
watch
a
leaf
quivering
in
the
rush
of
air
was
an
exquisite
joy
.
Up
in
the
sky
swallows
swooping
,
swerving
,
flinging
themselves
in
and
out
,
round
and
round
,
yet
always
with
perfect
control
as
if
elastics
held
them
;
and
the
flies
rising
and
falling
;
and
the
sun
spotting
now
this
leaf
,
now
that
,
in
mockery
,
dazzling
it
with
soft
gold
in
pure
good
temper
;
and
now
and
again
some
chime
(
it
might
be
a
motor
horn
)
tinkling
divinely
on
the
grass
stalks
--
all
of
this
,
calm
and
reasonable
as
it
was
,
made
out
of
ordinary
things
as
it
was
,
was
the
truth
now
;
beauty
,
that
was
the
truth
now
.
Beauty
was
everywhere
.
"
It
is
time
,
"
said
Rezia
.
The
word
"
time
"
split
its
husk
;
poured
its
riches
over
him
;
and
from
his
lips
fell
like
shells
,
like
shavings
from
a
plane
,
without
his
making
them
,
hard
,
white
,
imperishable
words
,
and
flew
to
attach
themselves
to
their
places
in
an
ode
to
Time
;
an
immortal
ode
to
Time
.
He
sang
.
Evans
answered
from
behind
the
tree
.
The
dead
were
in
Thessaly
,
Evans
sang
,
among
the
orchids
.
There
they
waited
till
the
War
was
over
,
and
now
the
dead
,
now
Evans
himself
--
