-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Вирджиния Вульф
-
- На маяк
-
- Стр. 28/72
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
But
which
was
it
to
be
?
They
had
all
the
trays
of
her
jewel-case
open
.
The
gold
necklace
,
which
was
Italian
,
or
the
opal
necklace
,
which
Uncle
James
had
brought
her
from
India
;
or
should
she
wear
her
amethysts
?
"
Choose
,
dearests
,
choose
,
"
she
said
,
hoping
that
they
would
make
haste
.
But
she
let
them
take
their
time
to
choose
:
she
let
Rose
,
particularly
,
take
up
this
and
then
that
,
and
hold
her
jewels
against
the
black
dress
,
for
this
little
ceremony
of
choosing
jewels
,
which
was
gone
through
every
night
,
was
what
Rose
liked
best
,
she
knew
.
She
had
some
hidden
reason
of
her
own
for
attaching
great
importance
to
this
choosing
what
her
mother
was
to
wear
.
What
was
the
reason
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
wondered
,
standing
still
to
let
her
clasp
the
necklace
she
had
chosen
,
divining
,
through
her
own
past
,
some
deep
,
some
buried
,
some
quite
speechless
feeling
that
one
had
for
one
's
mother
at
Rose
's
age
.
Like
all
feelings
felt
for
oneself
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
thought
,
it
made
one
sad
.
It
was
so
inadequate
,
what
one
could
give
in
return
;
and
what
Rose
felt
was
quite
out
of
proportion
to
anything
she
actually
was
.
And
Rose
would
grow
up
;
and
Rose
would
suffer
,
she
supposed
,
with
these
deep
feelings
,
and
she
said
she
was
ready
now
,
and
they
would
go
down
,
and
Jasper
,
because
he
was
the
gentleman
,
should
give
her
his
arm
,
and
Rose
,
as
she
was
the
lady
,
should
carry
her
handkerchief
(
she
gave
her
the
handkerchief
)
,
and
what
else
?
oh
,
yes
,
it
might
be
cold
:
a
shawl
.
Choose
me
a
shawl
,
she
said
,
for
that
would
please
Rose
,
who
was
bound
to
suffer
so
.
"
There
,
"
she
said
,
stopping
by
the
window
on
the
landing
,
"
there
they
are
again
.
"
Joseph
had
settled
on
another
tree-top
.
"
Do
n't
you
think
they
mind
,
"
she
said
to
Jasper
,
"
having
their
wings
broken
?
"
Why
did
he
want
to
shoot
poor
old
Joseph
and
Mary
?
He
shuffled
a
little
on
the
stairs
,
and
felt
rebuked
,
but
not
seriously
,
for
she
did
not
understand
the
fun
of
shooting
birds
;
and
they
did
not
feel
;
and
being
his
mother
she
lived
away
in
another
division
of
the
world
,
but
he
rather
liked
her
stories
about
Mary
and
Joseph
.
She
made
him
laugh
.
But
how
did
she
know
that
those
were
Mary
and
Joseph
?
Did
she
think
the
same
birds
came
to
the
same
trees
every
night
?
he
asked
.
But
here
,
suddenly
,
like
all
grown-up
people
,
she
ceased
to
pay
him
the
least
attention
.
She
was
listening
to
a
clatter
in
the
hall
.
"
They
've
come
back
!
"
she
exclaimed
,
and
at
once
she
felt
much
more
annoyed
with
them
than
relieved
.
Then
she
wondered
,
had
it
happened
?
She
would
go
down
and
they
would
tell
her
--
but
no
.
They
could
not
tell
her
anything
,
with
all
these
people
about
.
So
she
must
go
down
and
begin
dinner
and
wait
.
And
,
like
some
queen
who
,
finding
her
people
gathered
in
the
hall
,
looks
down
upon
them
,
and
descends
among
them
,
and
acknowledges
their
tributes
silently
,
and
accepts
their
devotion
and
their
prostration
before
her
(
Paul
did
not
move
a
muscle
but
looked
straight
before
him
as
she
passed
)
she
went
down
,
and
crossed
the
hall
and
bowed
her
head
very
slightly
,
as
if
she
accepted
what
they
could
not
say
:
their
tribute
to
her
beauty
.
But
she
stopped
.
There
was
a
smell
of
burning
Could
they
have
let
the
BOEUF
EN
DAUBE
overboil
?
she
wondered
,
pray
heaven
not
!
when
the
great
clangour
of
the
gong
announced
solemnly
,
authoritatively
,
that
all
those
scattered
about
,
in
attics
,
in
bedrooms
,
on
little
perches
of
their
own
,
reading
,
writing
,
putting
the
last
smooth
to
their
hair
,
or
fastening
dresses
,
must
leave
all
that
,
and
the
little
odds
and
ends
on
their
washing-tables
and
dressing
tables
,
and
the
novels
on
the
bed-tables
,
and
the
diaries
which
were
so
private
,
and
assemble
in
the
dining-room
for
dinner
.
But
what
have
I
done
with
my
life
?
thought
Mrs.
Ramsay
,
taking
her
place
at
the
head
of
the
table
,
and
looking
at
all
the
plates
making
white
circles
on
it
.
"
William
,
sit
by
me
,
"
she
said
.
"
Lily
,
"
she
said
,
wearily
,
"
over
there
.
"
They
had
that
--
Paul
Rayley
and
Minta
Doyle
--
she
,
only
this
--
an
infinitely
long
table
and
plates
and
knives
.
At
the
far
end
was
her
husband
,
sitting
down
,
all
in
a
heap
,
frowning
.
What
at
?
She
did
not
know
.
She
did
not
mind
.
She
could
not
understand
how
she
had
ever
felt
any
emotion
or
affection
for
him
.
She
had
a
sense
of
being
past
everything
,
through
everything
,
out
of
everything
,
as
she
helped
the
soup
,
as
if
there
was
an
eddy
--
there
--
and
one
could
be
in
it
,
or
one
could
be
out
of
it
,
and
she
was
out
of
it
.
It
's
all
come
to
an
end
,
she
thought
,
while
they
came
in
one
after
another
,
Charles
Tansley
--
"
Sit
there
,
please
,
"
she
said
--
Augustus
Carmichael
--
and
sat
down
.
And
meanwhile
she
waited
,
passively
,
for
some
one
to
answer
her
,
for
something
to
happen
.
But
this
is
not
a
thing
,
she
thought
,
ladling
out
soup
,
that
one
says
.
Raising
her
eyebrows
at
the
discrepancy
--
that
was
what
she
was
thinking
,
this
was
what
she
was
doing
--
ladling
out
soup
--
she
felt
,
more
and
more
strongly
,
outside
that
eddy
;
or
as
if
a
shade
had
fallen
,
and
,
robbed
of
colour
,
she
saw
things
truly
.
The
room
(
she
looked
round
it
)
was
very
shabby
.
There
was
no
beauty
anywhere
.
She
forebore
to
look
at
Mr.
Tansley
.
Nothing
seemed
to
have
merged
.
They
all
sat
separate
.
