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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Стр. 19/72
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Nothing
could
be
cooler
and
quieter
.
Taking
out
a
pen-knife
,
Mr.
Bankes
tapped
the
canvas
with
the
bone
handle
.
What
did
she
wish
to
indicate
by
the
triangular
purple
shape
,
"
just
there
"
?
he
asked
.
It
was
Mrs.
Ramsay
reading
to
James
,
she
said
.
She
knew
his
objection
--
that
no
one
could
tell
it
for
a
human
shape
.
But
she
had
made
no
attempt
at
likeness
,
she
said
.
For
what
reason
had
she
introduced
them
then
?
he
asked
.
Why
indeed
?
--
except
that
if
there
,
in
that
corner
,
it
was
bright
,
here
,
in
this
,
she
felt
the
need
of
darkness
.
Simple
,
obvious
,
commonplace
,
as
it
was
,
Mr.
Bankes
was
interested
.
Mother
and
child
then
--
objects
of
universal
veneration
,
and
in
this
case
the
mother
was
famous
for
her
beauty
--
might
be
reduced
,
he
pondered
,
to
a
purple
shadow
without
irreverence
.
But
the
picture
was
not
of
them
,
she
said
.
Or
,
not
in
his
sense
.
There
were
other
senses
too
in
which
one
might
reverence
them
.
By
a
shadow
here
and
a
light
there
,
for
instance
.
Her
tribute
took
that
form
if
,
as
she
vaguely
supposed
,
a
picture
must
be
a
tribute
.
A
mother
and
child
might
be
reduced
to
a
shadow
without
irreverence
.
A
light
here
required
a
shadow
there
.
He
considered
.
He
was
interested
.
He
took
it
scientifically
in
complete
good
faith
.
The
truth
was
that
all
his
prejudices
were
on
the
other
side
,
he
explained
.
The
largest
picture
in
his
drawing-room
,
which
painters
had
praised
,
and
valued
at
a
higher
price
than
he
had
given
for
it
,
was
of
the
cherry
trees
in
blossom
on
the
banks
of
the
Kennet
.
He
had
spent
his
honeymoon
on
the
banks
of
the
Kennet
,
he
said
.
Lily
must
come
and
see
that
picture
,
he
said
.
But
now
--
he
turned
,
with
his
glasses
raised
to
the
scientific
examination
of
her
canvas
.
The
question
being
one
of
the
relations
of
masses
,
of
lights
and
shadows
,
which
,
to
be
honest
,
he
had
never
considered
before
,
he
would
like
to
have
it
explained
--
what
then
did
she
wish
to
make
of
it
?
And
he
indicated
the
scene
before
them
.
She
looked
.
She
could
not
show
him
what
she
wished
to
make
of
it
,
could
not
see
it
even
herself
,
without
a
brush
in
her
hand
.
She
took
up
once
more
her
old
painting
position
with
the
dim
eyes
and
the
absent-minded
manner
,
subduing
all
her
impressions
as
a
woman
to
something
much
more
general
;
becoming
once
more
under
the
power
of
that
vision
which
she
had
seen
clearly
once
and
must
now
grope
for
among
hedges
and
houses
and
mothers
and
children
--
her
picture
.
It
was
a
question
,
she
remembered
,
how
to
connect
this
mass
on
the
right
hand
with
that
on
the
left
.
She
might
do
it
by
bringing
the
line
of
the
branch
across
so
;
or
break
the
vacancy
in
the
foreground
by
an
object
(
James
perhaps
)
so
But
the
danger
was
that
by
doing
that
the
unity
of
the
whole
might
be
broken
.
She
stopped
;
she
did
not
want
to
bore
him
;
she
took
the
canvas
lightly
off
the
easel
.
But
it
had
been
seen
;
it
had
been
taken
from
her
.
This
man
had
shared
with
her
something
profoundly
intimate
.
And
,
thanking
Mr.
Ramsay
for
it
and
Mrs.
Ramsay
for
it
and
the
hour
and
the
place
,
crediting
the
world
with
a
power
which
she
had
not
suspected
--
that
one
could
walk
away
down
that
long
gallery
not
alone
any
more
but
arm
in
arm
with
somebody
--
the
strangest
feeling
in
the
world
,
and
the
most
exhilarating
--
she
nicked
the
catch
of
her
paint-box
to
,
more
firmly
than
was
necessary
,
and
the
nick
seemed
to
surround
in
a
circle
forever
the
paint-box
,
the
lawn
,
Mr.
Bankes
,
and
that
wild
villain
,
Cam
,
dashing
past
.
For
Cam
grazed
the
easel
by
an
inch
;
she
would
not
stop
for
Mr.
Bankes
and
Lily
Briscoe
;
though
Mr.
Bankes
,
who
would
have
liked
a
daughter
of
his
own
,
held
out
his
hand
;
she
would
not
stop
for
her
father
,
whom
she
grazed
also
by
an
inch
;
nor
for
her
mother
,
who
called
"
Cam
!
I
want
you
a
moment
!
"
as
she
dashed
past
.
She
was
off
like
a
bird
,
bullet
,
or
arrow
,
impelled
by
what
desire
,
shot
by
whom
,
at
what
directed
,
who
could
say
?
What
,
what
?
Mrs.
Ramsay
pondered
,
watching
her
.
It
might
be
a
vision
--
of
a
shell
,
of
a
wheelbarrow
,
of
a
fairy
kingdom
on
the
far
side
of
the
hedge
;
or
it
might
be
the
glory
of
speed
;
no
one
knew
.
But
when
Mrs.
Ramsay
called
"
Cam
!
"
a
second
time
,
the
projectile
dropped
in
mid
career
,
and
Cam
came
lagging
back
,
pulling
a
leaf
by
the
way
,
to
her
mother
.
What
was
she
dreaming
about
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
wondered
,
seeing
her
engrossed
,
as
she
stood
there
,
with
some
thought
of
her
own
,
so
that
she
had
to
repeat
the
message
twice
--
ask
Mildred
if
Andrew
,
Miss
Doyle
,
and
Mr.
Rayley
have
come
back
?
--
The
words
seemed
to
be
dropped
into
a
well
,
where
,
if
the
waters
were
clear
,
they
were
also
so
extraordinarily
distorting
that
,
even
as
they
descended
,
one
saw
them
twisting
about
to
make
Heaven
knows
what
pattern
on
the
floor
of
the
child
's
mind
.
What
message
would
Cam
give
the
cook
?
Mrs.
Ramsay
wondered
.
And
indeed
it
was
only
by
waiting
patiently
,
and
hearing
that
there
was
an
old
woman
in
the
kitchen
with
very
red
cheeks
,
drinking
soup
out
of
a
basin
,
that
Mrs.
Ramsay
at
last
prompted
that
parrot-like
instinct
which
had
picked
up
Mildred
's
words
quite
accurately
and
could
now
produce
them
,
if
one
waited
,
in
a
colourless
singsong
.
Shifting
from
foot
to
foot
,
Cam
repeated
the
words
,
"
No
,
they
have
n't
,
and
I
've
told
Ellen
to
clear
away
tea
.
"
Minta
Doyle
and
Paul
Rayley
had
not
come
back
then
.
That
could
only
mean
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
thought
,
one
thing
.
She
must
accept
him
,
or
she
must
refuse
him
.
This
going
off
after
luncheon
for
a
walk
,
even
though
Andrew
was
with
them
--
what
could
it
mean
?
except
that
she
had
decided
,
rightly
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
thought
(
and
she
was
very
,
very
fond
of
Minta
)
,
to
accept
that
good
fellow
,
who
might
not
be
brilliant
,
but
then
,
thought
Mrs.
Ramsay
,
realising
that
James
was
tugging
at
her
,
to
make
her
go
on
reading
aloud
the
Fisherman
and
his
Wife
,
she
did
in
her
own
heart
infinitely
prefer
boobies
to
clever
men
who
wrote
dissertations
;
Charles
Tansley
,
for
instance
.
Anyhow
it
must
have
happened
,
one
way
or
the
other
,
by
now
.
