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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 34/96
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"
For
God
's
sake
do
n't
come
!
"
Septimus
cried
out
.
For
he
could
not
look
upon
the
dead
.
But
the
branches
parted
.
A
man
in
grey
was
actually
walking
towards
them
.
It
was
Evans
!
But
no
mud
was
on
him
;
no
wounds
;
he
was
not
changed
.
I
must
tell
the
whole
world
,
Septimus
cried
,
raising
his
hand
(
as
the
dead
man
in
the
grey
suit
came
nearer
)
,
raising
his
hand
like
some
colossal
figure
who
has
lamented
the
fate
of
man
for
ages
in
the
desert
alone
with
his
hands
pressed
to
his
forehead
,
furrows
of
despair
on
his
cheeks
,
and
now
sees
light
on
the
desert
's
edge
which
broadens
and
strikes
the
iron-black
figure
(
and
Septimus
half
rose
from
his
chair
)
,
and
with
legions
of
men
prostrate
behind
him
he
,
the
giant
mourner
,
receives
for
one
moment
on
his
face
the
whole
--
"
But
I
am
so
unhappy
,
Septimus
,
"
said
Rezia
trying
to
make
him
sit
down
.
The
millions
lamented
;
for
ages
they
had
sorrowed
.
He
would
turn
round
,
he
would
tell
them
in
a
few
moments
,
only
a
few
moments
more
,
of
this
relief
,
of
this
joy
,
of
this
astonishing
revelation
--
"
The
time
,
Septimus
,
"
Rezia
repeated
.
"
What
is
the
time
?
"
He
was
talking
,
he
was
starting
,
this
man
must
notice
him
.
He
was
looking
at
them
.
"
I
will
tell
you
the
time
,
"
said
Septimus
,
very
slowly
,
very
drowsily
,
smiling
mysteriously
.
As
he
sat
smiling
at
the
dead
man
in
the
grey
suit
the
quarter
struck
--
the
quarter
to
twelve
.
And
that
is
being
young
,
Peter
Walsh
thought
as
he
passed
them
.
To
be
having
an
awful
scene
--
the
poor
girl
looked
absolutely
desperate
--
in
the
middle
of
the
morning
.
But
what
was
it
about
,
he
wondered
,
what
had
the
young
man
in
the
overcoat
been
saying
to
her
to
make
her
look
like
that
;
what
awful
fix
had
they
got
themselves
into
,
both
to
look
so
desperate
as
that
on
a
fine
summer
morning
?
The
amusing
thing
about
coming
back
to
England
,
after
five
years
,
was
the
way
it
made
,
anyhow
the
first
days
,
things
stand
out
as
if
one
had
never
seen
them
before
;
lovers
squabbling
under
a
tree
;
the
domestic
family
life
of
the
parks
.
Never
had
he
seen
London
look
so
enchanting
--
the
softness
of
the
distances
;
the
richness
;
the
greenness
;
the
civilisation
,
after
India
,
he
thought
,
strolling
across
the
grass
.
This
susceptibility
to
impressions
had
been
his
undoing
no
doubt
.
Still
at
his
age
he
had
,
like
a
boy
or
a
girl
even
,
these
alternations
of
mood
;
good
days
,
bad
days
,
for
no
reason
whatever
,
happiness
from
a
pretty
face
,
downright
misery
at
the
sight
of
a
frump
.
After
India
of
course
one
fell
in
love
with
every
woman
one
met
.
There
was
a
freshness
about
them
;
even
the
poorest
dressed
better
than
five
years
ago
surely
;
and
to
his
eye
the
fashions
had
never
been
so
becoming
;
the
long
black
cloaks
;
the
slimness
;
the
elegance
;
and
then
the
delicious
and
apparently
universal
habit
of
paint
.
Every
woman
,
even
the
most
respectable
,
had
roses
blooming
under
glass
;
lips
cut
with
a
knife
;
curls
of
Indian
ink
;
there
was
design
,
art
,
everywhere
;
a
change
of
some
sort
had
undoubtedly
taken
place
.
