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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 53/96
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)
"
The
address
?
"
murmured
Hugh
Whitbread
;
and
there
was
at
once
a
ripple
in
the
grey
tide
of
service
which
washed
round
Lady
Bruton
day
in
,
day
out
,
collecting
,
intercepting
,
enveloping
her
in
a
fine
tissue
which
broke
concussions
,
mitigated
interruptions
,
and
spread
round
the
house
in
Brook
Street
a
fine
net
where
things
lodged
and
were
picked
out
accurately
,
instantly
,
by
grey-haired
Perkins
,
who
had
been
with
Lady
Bruton
these
thirty
years
and
now
wrote
down
the
address
;
handed
it
to
Mr.
Whitbread
,
who
took
out
his
pocket-book
,
raised
his
eyebrows
,
and
slipping
it
in
among
documents
of
the
highest
importance
,
said
that
he
would
get
Evelyn
to
ask
him
to
lunch
.
(
They
were
waiting
to
bring
the
coffee
until
Mr.
Whitbread
had
finished
.
)
Hugh
was
very
slow
,
Lady
Bruton
thought
.
He
was
getting
fat
,
she
noticed
.
Richard
always
kept
himself
in
the
pink
of
condition
.
She
was
getting
impatient
;
the
whole
of
her
being
was
setting
positively
,
undeniably
,
domineeringly
brushing
aside
all
this
unnecessary
trifling
(
Peter
Walsh
and
his
affairs
)
upon
that
subject
which
engaged
her
attention
,
and
not
merely
her
attention
,
but
that
fibre
which
was
the
ramrod
of
her
soul
,
that
essential
part
of
her
without
which
Millicent
Bruton
would
not
have
been
Millicent
Bruton
;
that
project
for
emigrating
young
people
of
both
sexes
born
of
respectable
parents
and
setting
them
up
with
a
fair
prospect
of
doing
well
in
Canada
.
She
exaggerated
.
She
had
perhaps
lost
her
sense
of
proportion
.
Emigration
was
not
to
others
the
obvious
remedy
,
the
sublime
conception
.
It
was
not
to
them
(
not
to
Hugh
,
or
Richard
,
or
even
to
devoted
Miss
Brush
)
the
liberator
of
the
pent
egotism
,
which
a
strong
martial
woman
,
well
nourished
,
well
descended
,
of
direct
impulses
,
downright
feelings
,
and
little
introspective
power
(
broad
and
simple
--
why
could
not
every
one
be
broad
and
simple
?
she
asked
)
feels
rise
within
her
,
once
youth
is
past
,
and
must
eject
upon
some
object
--
it
may
be
Emigration
,
it
may
be
Emancipation
;
but
whatever
it
be
,
this
object
round
which
the
essence
of
her
soul
is
daily
secreted
,
becomes
inevitably
prismatic
,
lustrous
,
half
looking-glass
,
half
precious
stone
;
now
carefully
hidden
in
case
people
should
sneer
at
it
;
now
proudly
displayed
.
Emigration
had
become
,
in
short
,
largely
Lady
Bruton
.
But
she
had
to
write
.
And
one
letter
to
the
Times
,
she
used
to
say
to
Miss
Brush
,
cost
her
more
than
to
organise
an
expedition
to
South
Africa
(
which
she
had
done
in
the
war
)
.
After
a
morning
's
battle
beginning
,
tearing
up
,
beginning
again
,
she
used
to
feel
the
futility
of
her
own
womanhood
as
she
felt
it
on
no
other
occasion
,
and
would
turn
gratefully
to
the
thought
of
Hugh
Whitbread
who
possessed
--
no
one
could
doubt
it
--
the
art
of
writing
letters
to
the
Times
.
A
being
so
differently
constituted
from
herself
,
with
such
a
command
of
language
;
able
to
put
things
as
editors
like
them
put
;
had
passions
which
one
could
not
call
simply
greed
.
Lady
Bruton
often
suspended
judgement
upon
men
in
deference
to
the
mysterious
accord
in
which
they
,
but
no
woman
,
stood
to
the
laws
of
the
universe
;
knew
how
to
put
things
;
knew
what
was
said
;
so
that
if
Richard
advised
her
,
and
Hugh
wrote
for
her
,
she
was
sure
of
being
somehow
right
.
So
she
let
Hugh
eat
his
soufflé
;
asked
after
poor
Evelyn
;
waited
until
they
were
smoking
,
and
then
said
,
"
Milly
,
would
you
fetch
the
papers
?
"
And
Miss
Brush
went
out
,
came
back
;
laid
papers
on
the
table
;
and
Hugh
produced
his
fountain
pen
;
his
silver
fountain
pen
,
which
had
done
twenty
years
'
service
,
he
said
,
unscrewing
the
cap
.
It
was
still
in
perfect
order
;
he
had
shown
it
to
the
makers
;
there
was
no
reason
,
they
said
,
why
it
should
ever
wear
out
;
which
was
somehow
to
Hugh
's
credit
,
and
to
the
credit
of
the
sentiments
which
his
pen
expressed
(
so
Richard
Dalloway
felt
)
as
Hugh
began
carefully
writing
capital
letters
with
rings
round
them
in
the
margin
,
and
thus
marvellously
reduced
Lady
Bruton
's
tangles
to
sense
,
to
grammar
such
as
the
editor
of
the
Times
,
Lady
Bruton
felt
,
watching
the
marvellous
transformation
,
must
respect
.
Hugh
was
slow
.
Hugh
was
pertinacious
.
Richard
said
one
must
take
risks
.
Hugh
proposed
modifications
in
deference
to
people
's
feelings
,
which
,
he
said
rather
tartly
when
Richard
laughed
,
"
had
to
be
considered
,
"
and
read
out
"
how
,
therefore
,
we
are
of
opinion
that
the
times
are
ripe
...
the
superfluous
youth
of
our
ever-increasing
population
...
what
we
owe
to
the
dead
...
