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- Вирджиния Вульф
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Well
then
,
well
then
?
she
asked
,
somehow
expecting
the
others
to
go
on
with
the
argument
,
as
if
in
an
argument
like
this
one
threw
one
's
own
little
bolt
which
fell
short
obviously
and
left
the
others
to
carry
it
on
.
So
she
listened
again
to
what
they
were
saying
in
case
they
should
throw
any
light
upon
the
question
of
love
.
"
Then
,
"
said
Mr.
Bankes
,
"
there
is
that
liquid
the
English
call
coffee
.
"
"
Oh
,
coffee
!
"
said
Mrs.
Ramsay
.
But
it
was
much
rather
a
question
(
she
was
thoroughly
roused
,
Lily
could
see
,
and
talked
very
emphatically
)
of
real
butter
and
clean
milk
.
Speaking
with
warmth
and
eloquence
,
she
described
the
iniquity
of
the
English
dairy
system
,
and
in
what
state
milk
was
delivered
at
the
door
,
and
was
about
to
prove
her
charges
,
for
she
had
gone
into
the
matter
,
when
all
round
the
table
,
beginning
with
Andrew
in
the
middle
,
like
a
fire
leaping
from
tuft
to
tuft
of
furze
,
her
children
laughed
;
her
husband
laughed
;
she
was
laughed
at
,
fire-encircled
,
and
forced
to
veil
her
crest
,
dismount
her
batteries
,
and
only
retaliate
by
displaying
the
raillery
and
ridicule
of
the
table
to
Mr.
Bankes
as
an
example
of
what
one
suffered
if
one
attacked
the
prejudices
of
the
British
Public
.
Purposely
,
however
,
for
she
had
it
on
her
mind
that
Lily
,
who
had
helped
her
with
Mr.
Tansley
,
was
out
of
things
,
she
exempted
her
from
the
rest
;
said
"
Lily
anyhow
agrees
with
me
,
"
and
so
drew
her
in
,
a
little
fluttered
,
a
little
startled
.
(
For
she
was
thinking
about
love
.
)
They
were
both
out
of
things
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
had
been
thinking
,
both
Lily
and
Charles
Tansley
.
Both
suffered
from
the
glow
of
the
other
two
.
He
,
it
was
clear
,
felt
himself
utterly
in
the
cold
;
no
woman
would
look
at
him
with
Paul
Rayley
in
the
room
.
Poor
fellow
!
Still
,
he
had
his
dissertation
,
the
influence
of
somebody
upon
something
:
he
could
take
care
of
himself
.
With
Lily
it
was
different
.
She
faded
,
under
Minta
's
glow
;
became
more
inconspicuous
than
ever
,
in
her
little
grey
dress
with
her
little
puckered
face
and
her
little
Chinese
eyes
.
Everything
about
her
was
so
small
.
Yet
,
thought
Mrs.
Ramsay
,
comparing
her
with
Minta
,
as
she
claimed
her
help
(
for
Lily
should
bear
her
out
she
talked
no
more
about
her
dairies
than
her
husband
did
about
his
boots
--
he
would
talk
by
the
hour
about
his
boots
)
of
the
two
,
Lily
at
forty
will
be
the
better
.
There
was
in
Lily
a
thread
of
something
;
a
flare
of
something
;
something
of
her
own
which
Mrs.
Ramsay
liked
very
much
indeed
,
but
no
man
would
,
she
feared
.
Obviously
,
not
,
unless
it
were
a
much
older
man
,
like
William
Bankes
.
But
then
he
cared
,
well
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
sometimes
thought
that
he
cared
,
since
his
wife
's
death
,
perhaps
for
her
.
He
was
not
"
in
love
"
of
course
;
it
was
one
of
those
unclassified
affections
of
which
there
are
so
many
.
Oh
,
but
nonsense
,
she
thought
;
William
must
marry
Lily
.
They
have
so
many
things
in
common
.
Lily
is
so
fond
of
flowers
.
They
are
both
cold
and
aloof
and
rather
self-sufficing
.
She
must
arrange
for
them
to
take
a
long
walk
together
.
Foolishly
,
she
had
set
them
opposite
each
other
.
That
could
be
remedied
tomorrow
.
If
it
were
fine
,
they
should
go
for
a
picnic
.
Everything
seemed
possible
.
Everything
seemed
right
.
Just
now
(
but
this
can
not
last
,
she
thought
,
dissociating
herself
from
the
moment
while
they
were
all
talking
about
boots
)
just
now
she
had
reached
security
;
she
hovered
like
a
hawk
suspended
;
like
a
flag
floated
in
an
element
of
joy
which
filled
every
nerve
of
her
body
fully
and
sweetly
,
not
noisily
,
solemnly
rather
,
for
it
arose
,
she
thought
,
looking
at
them
all
eating
there
,
from
husband
and
children
and
friends
;
all
of
which
rising
in
this
profound
stillness
(
she
was
helping
William
Bankes
to
one
very
small
piece
more
,
and
peered
into
the
depths
of
the
earthenware
pot
)
seemed
now
for
no
special
reason
to
stay
there
like
a
smoke
,
like
a
fume
rising
upwards
,
holding
them
safe
together
.
Nothing
need
be
said
;
nothing
could
be
said
.
There
it
was
,
all
round
them
.
It
partook
,
she
felt
,
carefully
helping
Mr.
Bankes
to
a
specially
tender
piece
,
of
eternity
;
as
she
had
already
felt
about
something
different
once
before
that
afternoon
;
there
is
a
coherence
in
things
,
a
stability
;
something
,
she
meant
,
is
immune
from
change
,
and
shines
out
(
she
glanced
at
the
window
with
its
ripple
of
reflected
lights
)
in
the
face
of
the
flowing
,
the
fleeting
,
the
spectral
,
like
a
ruby
;
so
that
again
tonight
she
had
the
feeling
she
had
had
once
today
,
already
,
of
peace
,
of
rest
.
Of
such
moments
,
she
thought
,
the
thing
is
made
that
endures
.
"
Yes
,
"
she
assured
William
Bankes
,
"
there
is
plenty
for
everybody
.
"
"
Andrew
,
"
she
said
,
"
hold
your
plate
lower
,
or
I
shall
spill
it
.
"
(
The
BOEUF
EN
DAUBE
was
a
perfect
triumph
.
)
Here
,
she
felt
,
putting
the
spoon
down
,
where
one
could
move
or
rest
;
could
wait
now
(
they
were
all
helped
)
listening
;
could
then
,
like
a
hawk
which
lapses
suddenly
from
its
high
station
,
flaunt
and
sink
on
laughter
easily
,
resting
her
whole
weight
upon
what
at
the
other
end
of
the
table
her
husband
was
saying
about
the
square
root
of
one
thousand
two
hundred
and
fifty-three
.
That
was
the
number
,
it
seemed
,
on
his
watch
.
