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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 76/96
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He
had
reached
his
hotel
.
He
crossed
the
hall
,
with
its
mounds
of
reddish
chairs
and
sofas
,
its
spike-leaved
,
withered-looking
plants
.
He
got
his
key
off
the
hook
.
The
young
lady
handed
him
some
letters
.
He
went
upstairs
--
he
saw
her
most
often
at
Bourton
,
in
the
late
summer
,
when
he
stayed
there
for
a
week
,
or
fortnight
even
,
as
people
did
in
those
days
.
First
on
top
of
some
hill
there
she
would
stand
,
hands
clapped
to
her
hair
,
her
cloak
blowing
out
,
pointing
,
crying
to
them
--
she
saw
the
Severn
beneath
.
Or
in
a
wood
,
making
the
kettle
boil
--
very
ineffective
with
her
fingers
;
the
smoke
curtseying
,
blowing
in
their
faces
;
her
little
pink
face
showing
through
;
begging
water
from
an
old
woman
in
a
cottage
,
who
came
to
the
door
to
watch
them
go
.
They
walked
always
;
the
others
drove
.
She
was
bored
driving
,
disliked
all
animals
,
except
that
dog
.
They
tramped
miles
along
roads
.
She
would
break
off
to
get
her
bearings
,
pilot
him
back
across
country
;
and
all
the
time
they
argued
,
discussed
poetry
,
discussed
people
,
discussed
politics
(
she
was
a
Radical
then
)
;
never
noticing
a
thing
except
when
she
stopped
,
cried
out
at
a
view
or
a
tree
,
and
made
him
look
with
her
;
and
so
on
again
,
through
stubble
fields
,
she
walking
ahead
,
with
a
flower
for
her
aunt
,
never
tired
of
walking
for
all
her
delicacy
;
to
drop
down
on
Bourton
in
the
dusk
.
Then
,
after
dinner
,
old
Breitkopf
would
open
the
piano
and
sing
without
any
voice
,
and
they
would
lie
sunk
in
arm-chairs
,
trying
not
to
laugh
,
but
always
breaking
down
and
laughing
,
laughing
--
laughing
at
nothing
.
Breitkopf
was
supposed
not
to
see
.
And
then
in
the
morning
,
flirting
up
and
down
like
a
wagtail
in
front
of
the
house
...
Oh
it
was
a
letter
from
her
!
This
blue
envelope
;
that
was
her
hand
.
And
he
would
have
to
read
it
.
Here
was
another
of
those
meetings
,
bound
to
be
painful
!
To
read
her
letter
needed
the
devil
of
an
effort
.
"
How
heavenly
it
was
to
see
him
.
She
must
tell
him
that
.
"
That
was
all
.
But
it
upset
him
.
It
annoyed
him
.
He
wished
she
had
n't
written
it
.
Coming
on
top
of
his
thoughts
,
it
was
like
a
nudge
in
the
ribs
.
Why
could
n't
she
let
him
be
?
After
all
,
she
had
married
Dalloway
,
and
lived
with
him
in
perfect
happiness
all
these
years
.
These
hotels
are
not
consoling
places
.
Far
from
it
.
Any
number
of
people
had
hung
up
their
hats
on
those
pegs
.
Even
the
flies
,
if
you
thought
of
it
,
had
settled
on
other
people
's
noses
.
As
for
the
cleanliness
which
hit
him
in
the
face
,
it
was
n't
cleanliness
,
so
much
as
bareness
,
frigidity
;
a
thing
that
had
to
be
.
Some
arid
matron
made
her
rounds
at
dawn
sniffing
,
peering
,
causing
blue-nosed
maids
to
scour
,
for
all
the
world
as
if
the
next
visitor
were
a
joint
of
meat
to
be
served
on
a
perfectly
clean
platter
.
For
sleep
,
one
bed
;
for
sitting
in
,
one
armchair
;
for
cleaning
one
's
teeth
and
shaving
one
's
chin
,
one
tumbler
,
one
looking-glass
.
Books
,
letters
,
dressing-gown
,
slipped
about
on
the
impersonality
of
the
horsehair
like
incongruous
impertinences
.
And
it
was
Clarissa
's
letter
that
made
him
see
all
this
.
"
Heavenly
to
see
you
.
She
must
say
so
!
"
He
folded
the
paper
;
pushed
it
away
;
nothing
would
induce
him
to
read
it
again
!
To
get
that
letter
to
him
by
six
o'clock
she
must
have
sat
down
and
written
it
directly
he
left
her
;
stamped
it
;
sent
somebody
to
the
post
.
It
was
,
as
people
say
,
very
like
her
.
She
was
upset
by
his
visit
.
She
had
felt
a
great
deal
;
had
for
a
moment
,
when
she
kissed
his
hand
,
regretted
,
envied
him
even
,
remembered
possibly
(
for
he
saw
her
look
it
)
something
he
had
said
--
how
they
would
change
the
world
if
she
married
him
perhaps
;
whereas
,
it
was
this
;
it
was
middle
age
;
it
was
mediocrity
;
then
forced
herself
with
her
indomitable
vitality
to
put
all
that
aside
,
there
being
in
her
a
thread
of
life
which
for
toughness
,
endurance
,
power
to
overcome
obstacles
,
and
carry
her
triumphantly
through
he
had
never
known
the
like
of
.
Yes
;
but
there
would
come
a
reaction
directly
he
left
the
room
.
She
would
be
frightfully
sorry
for
him
;
she
would
think
what
in
the
world
she
could
do
to
give
him
pleasure
(
short
always
of
the
one
thing
)
and
he
could
see
her
with
the
tears
running
down
her
cheeks
going
to
her
writing-table
and
dashing
off
that
one
line
which
he
was
to
find
greeting
him
...
"
Heavenly
to
see
you
!
"
And
she
meant
it
.
Peter
Walsh
had
now
unlaced
his
boots
.
But
it
would
not
have
been
a
success
,
their
marriage
.
The
other
thing
,
after
all
,
came
so
much
more
naturally
.
