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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 8/96
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Listlessly
,
yet
confidently
,
poor
people
all
of
them
,
they
waited
;
looked
at
the
Palace
itself
with
the
flag
flying
;
at
Victoria
,
billowing
on
her
mound
,
admired
her
shelves
of
running
water
,
her
geraniums
;
singled
out
from
the
motor
cars
in
the
Mall
first
this
one
,
then
that
;
bestowed
emotion
,
vainly
,
upon
commoners
out
for
a
drive
;
recalled
their
tribute
to
keep
it
unspent
while
this
car
passed
and
that
;
and
all
the
time
let
rumour
accumulate
in
their
veins
and
thrill
the
nerves
in
their
thighs
at
the
thought
of
Royalty
looking
at
them
;
the
Queen
bowing
;
the
Prince
saluting
;
at
the
thought
of
the
heavenly
life
divinely
bestowed
upon
Kings
;
of
the
equerries
and
deep
curtsies
;
of
the
Queen
's
old
doll
's
house
;
of
Princess
Mary
married
to
an
Englishman
,
and
the
Prince
--
ah
!
the
Prince
!
who
took
wonderfully
,
they
said
,
after
old
King
Edward
,
but
was
ever
so
much
slimmer
.
The
Prince
lived
at
St.
James
's
;
but
he
might
come
along
in
the
morning
to
visit
his
mother
.
So
Sarah
Bletchley
said
with
her
baby
in
her
arms
,
tipping
her
foot
up
and
down
as
though
she
were
by
her
own
fender
in
Pimlico
,
but
keeping
her
eyes
on
the
Mall
,
while
Emily
Coates
ranged
over
the
Palace
windows
and
thought
of
the
housemaids
,
the
innumerable
housemaids
,
the
bedrooms
,
the
innumerable
bedrooms
.
Joined
by
an
elderly
gentleman
with
an
Aberdeen
terrier
,
by
men
without
occupation
,
the
crowd
increased
.
Little
Mr.
Bowley
,
who
had
rooms
in
the
Albany
and
was
sealed
with
wax
over
the
deeper
sources
of
life
but
could
be
unsealed
suddenly
,
inappropriately
,
sentimentally
,
by
this
sort
of
thing
--
poor
women
waiting
to
see
the
Queen
go
past
--
poor
women
,
nice
little
children
,
orphans
,
widows
,
the
War
--
tut-tut
--
actually
had
tears
in
his
eyes
.
A
breeze
flaunting
ever
so
warmly
down
the
Mall
through
the
thin
trees
,
past
the
bronze
heroes
,
lifted
some
flag
flying
in
the
British
breast
of
Mr.
Bowley
and
he
raised
his
hat
as
the
car
turned
into
the
Mall
and
held
it
high
as
the
car
approached
;
and
let
the
poor
mothers
of
Pimlico
press
close
to
him
,
and
stood
very
upright
.
The
car
came
on
.
Suddenly
Mrs.
Coates
looked
up
into
the
sky
.
The
sound
of
an
aeroplane
bored
ominously
into
the
ears
of
the
crowd
.
There
it
was
coming
over
the
trees
,
letting
out
white
smoke
from
behind
,
which
curled
and
twisted
,
actually
writing
something
!
making
letters
in
the
sky
!
Every
one
looked
up
.
Dropping
dead
down
the
aeroplane
soared
straight
up
,
curved
in
a
loop
,
raced
,
sank
,
rose
,
and
whatever
it
did
,
wherever
it
went
,
out
fluttered
behind
it
a
thick
ruffled
bar
of
white
smoke
which
curled
and
wreathed
upon
the
sky
in
letters
.
But
what
letters
?
A
C
was
it
?
an
E
,
then
an
L
?
Only
for
a
moment
did
they
lie
still
;
then
they
moved
and
melted
and
were
rubbed
out
up
in
the
sky
,
and
the
aeroplane
shot
further
away
and
again
,
in
a
fresh
space
of
sky
,
began
writing
a
K
,
an
E
,
a
Y
perhaps
?
"
Glaxo
,
"
said
Mrs.
Coates
in
a
strained
,
awe-stricken
voice
,
gazing
straight
up
,
and
her
baby
,
lying
stiff
and
white
in
her
arms
,
gazed
straight
up
.
"
Kreemo
,
"
murmured
Mrs.
Bletchley
,
like
a
sleep-walker
.
With
his
hat
held
out
perfectly
still
in
his
hand
,
Mr.
Bowley
gazed
straight
up
.
All
down
the
Mall
people
were
standing
and
looking
up
into
the
sky
.
As
they
looked
the
whole
world
became
perfectly
silent
,
and
a
flight
of
gulls
crossed
the
sky
,
first
one
gull
leading
,
then
another
,
and
in
this
extraordinary
silence
and
peace
,
in
this
pallor
,
in
this
purity
,
bells
struck
eleven
times
,
the
sound
fading
up
there
among
the
gulls
.
The
aeroplane
turned
and
raced
and
swooped
exactly
where
it
liked
,
swiftly
,
freely
,
like
a
skater
--
"
That
's
an
E
,
"
said
Mrs.
Bletchley
--
or
a
dancer
--
