-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Вирджиния Вульф
-
- Миссис Дэллоуэй
-
- Стр. 4/96
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
She
had
the
oddest
sense
of
being
herself
invisible
;
unseen
;
unknown
;
there
being
no
more
marrying
,
no
more
having
of
children
now
,
but
only
this
astonishing
and
rather
solemn
progress
with
the
rest
of
them
,
up
Bond
Street
,
this
being
Mrs.
Dalloway
;
not
even
Clarissa
any
more
;
this
being
Mrs.
Richard
Dalloway
.
Bond
Street
fascinated
her
;
Bond
Street
early
in
the
morning
in
the
season
;
its
flags
flying
;
its
shops
;
no
splash
;
no
glitter
;
one
roll
of
tweed
in
the
shop
where
her
father
had
bought
his
suits
for
fifty
years
;
a
few
pearls
;
salmon
on
an
iceblock
.
"
That
is
all
,
"
she
said
,
looking
at
the
fishmonger
's
.
"
That
is
all
,
"
she
repeated
,
pausing
for
a
moment
at
the
window
of
a
glove
shop
where
,
before
the
War
,
you
could
buy
almost
perfect
gloves
.
And
her
old
Uncle
William
used
to
say
a
lady
is
known
by
her
shoes
and
her
gloves
.
He
had
turned
on
his
bed
one
morning
in
the
middle
of
the
War
.
He
had
said
,
"
I
have
had
enough
.
"
Gloves
and
shoes
;
she
had
a
passion
for
gloves
;
but
her
own
daughter
,
her
Elizabeth
,
cared
not
a
straw
for
either
of
them
.
Not
a
straw
,
she
thought
,
going
on
up
Bond
Street
to
a
shop
where
they
kept
flowers
for
her
when
she
gave
a
party
.
Elizabeth
really
cared
for
her
dog
most
of
all
.
The
whole
house
this
morning
smelt
of
tar
.
Still
,
better
poor
Grizzle
than
Miss
Kilman
;
better
distemper
and
tar
and
all
the
rest
of
it
than
sitting
mewed
in
a
stuffy
bedroom
with
a
prayer
book
!
Better
anything
,
she
was
inclined
to
say
.
But
it
might
be
only
a
phase
,
as
Richard
said
,
such
as
all
girls
go
through
.
It
might
be
falling
in
love
.
But
why
with
Miss
Kilman
?
who
had
been
badly
treated
of
course
;
one
must
make
allowances
for
that
,
and
Richard
said
she
was
very
able
,
had
a
really
historical
mind
.
Anyhow
they
were
inseparable
,
and
Elizabeth
,
her
own
daughter
,
went
to
Communion
;
and
how
she
dressed
,
how
she
treated
people
who
came
to
lunch
she
did
not
care
a
bit
,
it
being
her
experience
that
the
religious
ecstasy
made
people
callous
(
so
did
causes
)
;
dulled
their
feelings
,
for
Miss
Kilman
would
do
anything
for
the
Russians
,
starved
herself
for
the
Austrians
,
but
in
private
inflicted
positive
torture
,
so
insensitive
was
she
,
dressed
in
a
green
mackintosh
coat
.
Year
in
year
out
she
wore
that
coat
;
she
perspired
;
she
was
never
in
the
room
five
minutes
without
making
you
feel
her
superiority
,
your
inferiority
;
how
poor
she
was
;
how
rich
you
were
;
how
she
lived
in
a
slum
without
a
cushion
or
a
bed
or
a
rug
or
whatever
it
might
be
,
all
her
soul
rusted
with
that
grievance
sticking
in
it
,
her
dismissal
from
school
during
the
War
--
poor
embittered
unfortunate
creature
!
For
it
was
not
her
one
hated
but
the
idea
of
her
,
which
undoubtedly
had
gathered
in
to
itself
a
great
deal
that
was
not
Miss
Kilman
;
had
become
one
of
those
spectres
with
which
one
battles
in
the
night
;
one
of
those
spectres
who
stand
astride
us
and
suck
up
half
our
life-blood
,
dominators
and
tyrants
;
for
no
doubt
with
another
throw
of
the
dice
,
had
the
black
been
uppermost
and
not
the
white
,
she
would
have
loved
Miss
Kilman
!
But
not
in
this
world
.
No
.
It
rasped
her
,
though
,
to
have
stirring
about
in
her
this
brutal
monster
!
to
hear
twigs
cracking
and
feel
hooves
planted
down
in
the
depths
of
that
leaf-encumbered
forest
,
the
soul
;
never
to
be
content
quite
,
or
quite
secure
,
for
at
any
moment
the
brute
would
be
stirring
,
this
hatred
,
which
,
especially
since
her
illness
,
had
power
to
make
her
feel
scraped
,
hurt
in
her
spine
;
gave
her
physical
pain
,
and
made
all
pleasure
in
beauty
,
in
friendship
,
in
being
well
,
in
being
loved
and
making
her
home
delightful
rock
,
quiver
,
and
bend
as
if
indeed
there
were
a
monster
grubbing
at
the
roots
,
as
if
the
whole
panoply
of
content
were
nothing
but
self
love
!
this
hatred
!
Nonsense
,
nonsense
!
she
cried
to
herself
,
pushing
through
the
swing
doors
of
Mulberry
's
the
florists
.
She
advanced
,
light
,
tall
,
very
upright
,
to
be
greeted
at
once
by
button-faced
Miss
Pym
,
whose
hands
were
always
bright
red
,
as
if
they
had
been
stood
in
cold
water
with
the
flowers
.
There
were
flowers
:
delphiniums
,
sweet
peas
,
bunches
of
lilac
;
and
carnations
,
masses
of
carnations
.
There
were
roses
;
there
were
irises
.
Ah
yes
--
so
she
breathed
in
the
earthy
garden
sweet
smell
as
she
stood
talking
to
Miss
Pym
who
owed
her
help
,
and
thought
her
kind
,
for
kind
she
had
been
years
ago
;
very
kind
,
but
she
looked
older
,
this
year
,
turning
her
head
from
side
to
side
among
the
irises
and
roses
and
nodding
tufts
of
lilac
with
her
eyes
half
closed
,
snuffing
in
,
after
the
street
uproar
,
the
delicious
scent
,
the
exquisite
coolness
.
