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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 79/96
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He
read
the
scores
in
the
stop
press
first
,
then
how
it
was
a
hot
day
;
then
about
a
murder
case
.
Having
done
things
millions
of
times
enriched
them
,
though
it
might
be
said
to
take
the
surface
off
.
The
past
enriched
,
and
experience
,
and
having
cared
for
one
or
two
people
,
and
so
having
acquired
the
power
which
the
young
lack
,
of
cutting
short
,
doing
what
one
likes
,
not
caring
a
rap
what
people
say
and
coming
and
going
without
any
very
great
expectations
(
he
left
his
paper
on
the
table
and
moved
off
)
,
which
however
(
and
he
looked
for
his
hat
and
coat
)
was
not
altogether
true
of
him
,
not
to-night
,
for
here
he
was
starting
to
go
to
a
party
,
at
his
age
,
with
the
belief
upon
him
that
he
was
about
to
have
an
experience
.
But
what
?
Beauty
anyhow
.
Not
the
crude
beauty
of
the
eye
.
It
was
not
beauty
pure
and
simple
--
Bedford
Place
leading
into
Russell
Square
.
It
was
straightness
and
emptiness
of
course
;
the
symmetry
of
a
corridor
;
but
it
was
also
windows
lit
up
,
a
piano
,
a
gramophone
sounding
;
a
sense
of
pleasure-making
hidden
,
but
now
and
again
emerging
when
,
through
the
uncurtained
window
,
the
window
left
open
,
one
saw
parties
sitting
over
tables
,
young
people
slowly
circling
,
conversations
between
men
and
women
,
maids
idly
looking
out
(
a
strange
comment
theirs
,
when
work
was
done
)
,
stockings
drying
on
top
ledges
,
a
parrot
,
a
few
plants
.
Absorbing
,
mysterious
,
of
infinite
richness
,
this
life
.
And
in
the
large
square
where
the
cabs
shot
and
swerved
so
quick
,
there
were
loitering
couples
,
dallying
,
embracing
,
shrunk
up
under
the
shower
of
a
tree
;
that
was
moving
;
so
silent
,
so
absorbed
,
that
one
passed
,
discreetly
,
timidly
,
as
if
in
the
presence
of
some
sacred
ceremony
to
interrupt
which
would
have
been
impious
.
That
was
interesting
.
And
so
on
into
the
flare
and
glare
.
His
light
overcoat
blew
open
,
he
stepped
with
indescribable
idiosyncrasy
,
lent
a
little
forward
,
tripped
,
with
his
hands
behind
his
back
and
his
eyes
still
a
little
hawklike
;
he
tripped
through
London
,
towards
Westminster
,
observing
.
Was
everybody
dining
out
,
then
?
Doors
were
being
opened
here
by
a
footman
to
let
issue
a
high-stepping
old
dame
,
in
buckled
shoes
,
with
three
purple
ostrich
feathers
in
her
hair
.
Doors
were
being
opened
for
ladies
wrapped
like
mummies
in
shawls
with
bright
flowers
on
them
,
ladies
with
bare
heads
.
And
in
respectable
quarters
with
stucco
pillars
through
small
front
gardens
lightly
swathed
with
combs
in
their
hair
(
having
run
up
to
see
the
children
)
,
women
came
;
men
waited
for
them
,
with
their
coats
blowing
open
,
and
the
motor
started
.
Everybody
was
going
out
.
What
with
these
doors
being
opened
,
and
the
descent
and
the
start
,
it
seemed
as
if
the
whole
of
London
were
embarking
in
little
boats
moored
to
the
bank
,
tossing
on
the
waters
,
as
if
the
whole
place
were
floating
off
in
carnival
.
And
Whitehall
was
skated
over
,
silver
beaten
as
it
was
,
skated
over
by
spiders
,
and
there
was
a
sense
of
midges
round
the
arc
lamps
;
it
was
so
hot
that
people
stood
about
talking
.
And
here
in
Westminster
was
a
retired
Judge
,
presumably
,
sitting
four
square
at
his
house
door
dressed
all
in
white
.
An
Anglo-Indian
presumably
.
And
here
a
shindy
of
brawling
women
,
drunken
women
;
here
only
a
policeman
and
looming
houses
,
high
houses
,
domed
houses
,
churches
,
parliaments
,
and
the
hoot
of
a
steamer
on
the
river
,
a
hollow
misty
cry
.
But
it
was
her
street
,
this
,
Clarissa
's
;
cabs
were
rushing
round
the
corner
,
like
water
round
the
piers
of
a
bridge
,
drawn
together
,
it
seemed
to
him
because
they
bore
people
going
to
her
party
,
Clarissa
's
party
.
The
cold
stream
of
visual
impressions
failed
him
now
as
if
the
eye
were
a
cup
that
overflowed
and
let
the
rest
run
down
its
china
walls
unrecorded
.
The
brain
must
wake
now
.
The
body
must
contract
now
,
entering
the
house
,
the
lighted
house
,
where
the
door
stood
open
,
where
the
motor
cars
were
standing
,
and
bright
women
descending
:
the
soul
must
brave
itself
to
endure
.
He
opened
the
big
blade
of
his
pocket-knife
.
Lucy
came
running
full
tilt
downstairs
,
having
just
nipped
in
to
the
drawing-room
to
smooth
a
cover
,
to
straighten
a
chair
,
to
pause
a
moment
and
feel
whoever
came
in
must
think
how
clean
,
how
bright
,
how
beautifully
cared
for
,
when
they
saw
the
beautiful
silver
,
the
brass
fire-irons
,
the
new
chair-covers
,
and
the
curtains
of
yellow
chintz
:
she
appraised
each
;
heard
a
roar
of
voices
;
people
already
coming
up
from
dinner
;
she
must
fly
!
The
Prime
Minister
was
coming
,
Agnes
said
:
so
she
had
heard
them
say
in
the
dining-room
,
she
said
,
coming
in
with
a
tray
of
glasses
.
Did
it
matter
,
did
it
matter
in
the
least
,
one
Prime
Minister
more
or
less
?
It
made
no
difference
at
this
hour
of
the
night
to
Mrs.
Walker
among
the
plates
,
saucepans
,
cullenders
,
frying-pans
,
chicken
in
aspic
,
ice-cream
freezers
,
pared
crusts
of
bread
,
lemons
,
soup
tureens
,
and
pudding
basins
which
,
however
hard
they
washed
up
in
the
scullery
seemed
to
be
all
on
top
of
her
,
on
the
kitchen
table
,
on
chairs
,
while
the
fire
blared
and
roared
,
the
electric
lights
glared
,
and
still
supper
had
to
be
laid
.
All
she
felt
was
,
one
Prime
Minister
more
or
less
made
not
a
scrap
of
difference
to
Mrs.
Walker
.
