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- Вирджиния Вульф
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'
But
I
beg
you
also
to
notice
my
cane
and
my
waistcoat
.
I
have
inherited
a
desk
of
solid
mahogany
in
a
room
hung
with
maps
.
Our
steamers
have
won
an
enviable
reputation
for
their
cabins
replete
with
luxury
.
We
supply
swimming-baths
and
gymnasiums
.
I
wear
a
white
waistcoat
now
and
consult
a
little
book
before
I
make
an
engagement
.
'
This
is
the
arch
and
ironical
manner
in
which
I
hope
to
distract
you
from
my
shivering
,
my
tender
,
and
infinitely
young
and
unprotected
soul
.
For
I
am
always
the
youngest
;
the
most
naïvely
surprised
;
the
one
who
runs
in
advance
in
apprehension
and
sympathy
with
discomfort
or
ridicule
--
should
there
be
a
smut
on
a
nose
,
or
a
button
undone
.
I
suffer
for
all
humiliations
.
Yet
I
am
also
ruthless
,
marmoreal
.
I
do
not
see
how
you
can
say
that
it
is
fortunate
to
have
lived
.
Your
little
excitements
,
your
childish
transports
,
when
a
kettle
boils
,
when
the
soft
air
lifts
Jinny
's
spotted
scarf
and
it
floats
web-like
,
are
to
me
like
silk
streamers
thrown
in
the
eyes
of
the
charging
bull
.
I
condemn
you
.
Yet
my
heart
yearns
towards
you
.
I
would
go
with
you
through
the
fires
of
death
.
Yet
am
happiest
alone
.
I
luxuriate
in
gold
and
purple
vestments
.
Yet
I
prefer
a
view
over
chimneypots
;
cats
scraping
their
mangy
sides
upon
blistered
chimney-stacks
;
broken
windows
;
and
the
hoarse
clangour
of
bells
from
the
steeple
of
some
brick
chapel
.
'
'
I
see
what
is
before
me
,
'
said
Jinny
.
'
This
scarf
,
these
wine-coloured
spots
.
This
glass
.
This
mustard
pot
.
This
flower
.
I
like
what
one
touches
,
what
one
tastes
.
I
like
rain
when
it
has
turned
to
snow
and
become
palatable
.
And
being
rash
,
and
much
more
courageous
than
you
are
,
I
do
not
temper
my
beauty
with
meanness
lest
it
should
scorch
me
.
I
gulp
it
down
entire
.
It
is
made
of
flesh
;
it
is
made
of
stuff
.
My
imagination
is
the
body
's
.
Its
visions
are
not
fine-spun
and
white
with
purity
like
Louis
'
.
I
do
not
like
your
lean
cats
and
your
blistered
chimney-pots
.
The
scrannel
beauties
of
your
roof-tops
repel
me
.
Men
and
women
,
in
uniforms
,
wigs
and
gowns
,
bowler
hats
and
tennis
shirts
beautifully
open
at
the
neck
,
the
infinite
variety
of
women
's
dresses
(
I
note
all
clothes
always
)
delight
me
.
I
eddy
with
them
,
in
and
out
,
in
and
out
,
into
rooms
,
into
halls
,
here
,
there
,
everywhere
,
wherever
they
go
.
This
man
lifts
the
hoof
of
a
horse
.
This
man
shoves
in
and
out
the
drawers
of
his
private
collection
.
I
am
never
alone
.
I
am
attended
by
a
regiment
of
my
fellows
.
My
mother
must
have
followed
the
drum
,
my
father
the
sea
.
I
am
like
a
little
dog
that
trots
down
the
road
after
the
regimental
band
,
but
stops
to
snuff
a
tree-trunk
,
to
sniff
some
brown
stain
,
and
suddenly
careers
across
the
street
after
some
mongrel
cur
and
then
holds
one
paw
up
while
it
sniffs
an
entrancing
whiff
of
meat
from
the
butcher
's
shop
.
My
traffics
have
led
me
into
strange
places
.
Men
,
how
many
,
have
broken
from
the
wall
and
come
to
me
.
I
have
only
to
hold
my
hand
up
.
Straight
as
a
dart
they
have
come
to
the
place
of
assignation
--
perhaps
a
chair
on
a
balcony
,
perhaps
a
shop
at
a
street
corner
.
The
torments
,
the
divisions
of
your
lives
have
been
solved
for
me
night
after
night
,
sometimes
only
by
the
touch
of
a
finger
under
the
table-cloth
as
we
sat
dining
--
so
fluid
has
my
body
become
,
forming
even
at
the
touch
of
a
finger
into
one
full
drop
,
which
fills
itself
,
which
quivers
,
which
flashes
,
which
falls
in
ecstasy
.
'
I
have
sat
before
a
looking-glass
as
you
sit
writing
,
adding
up
figures
at
desks
.
So
,
before
the
looking-glass
in
the
temple
of
my
bedroom
,
I
have
judged
my
nose
and
my
chin
;
my
lips
that
open
too
wide
and
show
too
much
gum
.
I
have
looked
.
I
have
noted
.
I
have
chosen
what
yellow
or
white
,
what
shine
or
dullness
,
what
loop
or
straightness
suits
.
I
am
volatile
for
one
,
rigid
for
another
,
angular
as
an
icicle
in
silver
,
or
voluptuous
as
a
candle
flame
in
gold
.
I
have
run
violently
like
a
whip
flung
out
to
the
extreme
end
of
my
tether
.
His
shirt
front
,
there
in
the
corner
,
has
been
white
;
then
purple
;
smoke
and
flame
have
wrapped
us
about
;
after
a
furious
conflagration
--
yet
we
scarcely
raised
our
voices
,
sitting
on
the
hearth-rug
,
as
we
murmured
all
the
secrets
of
our
hearts
as
into
shells
so
that
nobody
might
hear
in
the
sleeping-house
,
but
I
heard
the
cook
stir
once
,
and
once
we
thought
the
ticking
of
the
clock
was
a
footfall
--
we
have
sunk
to
ashes
,
leaving
no
relics
,
no
unburnt
bones
,
no
wisps
of
hair
to
be
kept
in
lockets
such
as
your
intimacies
leave
behind
them
.
Now
I
turn
grey
;
now
I
turn
gaunt
;
but
I
look
at
my
face
at
midday
sitting
in
front
of
the
looking-glass
in
broad
daylight
,
and
note
precisely
my
nose
,
my
chin
,
my
lips
that
open
too
wide
and
show
too
much
gum
.
But
I
am
not
afraid
.
'
'
There
were
lamp-posts
,
'
said
Rhoda
,
'
and
trees
that
had
not
yet
shed
their
leaves
on
the
way
from
the
station
.
The
leaves
might
have
hidden
me
still
.
But
I
did
not
hide
behind
them
.
I
walked
straight
up
to
you
instead
of
circling
round
to
avoid
the
shock
of
sensation
as
I
used
.
But
it
is
only
that
I
have
taught
my
body
to
do
a
certain
trick
.
Inwardly
I
am
not
taught
;
I
fear
,
I
hate
,
I
love
,
I
envy
and
despise
you
,
but
I
never
join
you
happily
.
Coming
up
from
the
station
,
refusing
to
accept
the
shadow
of
the
trees
and
the
pillar-boxes
,
I
perceived
,
from
your
coats
and
umbrellas
,
even
at
a
distance
,
how
you
stand
embedded
in
a
substance
made
of
repeated
moments
run
together
;
are
committed
,
have
an
attitude
,
with
children
,
authority
,
fame
,
love
,
society
;
where
I
have
nothing
.
I
have
no
face
.
'
Here
in
this
dining-room
you
see
the
antlers
and
the
tumblers
;
the
salt-cellars
;
the
yellow
stains
on
the
tablecloth
.
"
Waiter
!
"
says
Bernard
.
"
Bread
!
"
says
Susan
.
And
the
waiter
comes
;
he
brings
bread
.
But
I
see
the
side
of
a
cup
like
a
mountain
and
only
parts
of
antlers
,
and
the
brightness
on
the
side
of
that
jug
like
a
crack
in
darkness
with
wonder
and
terror
.
Your
voices
sound
like
trees
creaking
in
a
forest
.
So
with
your
faces
and
their
prominences
and
hollows
.
How
beautiful
,
standing
at
a
distance
immobile
at
midnight
against
the
railings
of
some
square
!
Behind
you
is
a
white
crescent
of
foam
,
and
fishermen
on
the
verge
of
the
world
are
drawing
in
nets
and
casting
them
.
A
wind
ruffles
the
topmost
leaves
of
primeval
trees
.
(
Yet
here
we
sit
at
Hampton
Court
.
)
Parrots
shrieking
break
the
intense
stillness
of
the
jungle
.
(
Here
the
trams
start
.
)
The
swallow
dips
her
wings
in
midnight
pools
.
(
Here
we
talk
.
)
That
is
the
circumference
that
I
try
to
grasp
as
we
sit
together
.
Thus
I
must
undergo
the
penance
of
Hampton
Court
at
seven
thirty
precisely
.
'
But
since
these
rolls
of
bread
and
wine
bottles
are
needed
by
me
,
and
your
faces
with
their
hollows
and
prominences
are
beautiful
,
and
the
table-cloth
and
its
yellow
stain
,
far
from
being
allowed
to
spread
in
wider
and
wider
circles
of
understanding
that
may
at
last
(
so
I
dream
,
falling
off
the
edge
of
the
earth
at
night
when
my
bed
floats
suspended
)
embrace
the
entire
world
,
I
must
go
through
the
antics
of
the
individual
.
I
must
start
when
you
pluck
at
me
with
your
children
,
your
poems
,
your
chilblains
or
whatever
it
is
that
you
do
and
suffer
.
But
I
am
not
deluded
.
