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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Стр. 38/72
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The
faintest
light
was
on
her
face
,
as
if
the
glow
of
Minta
opposite
,
some
excitement
,
some
anticipation
of
happiness
was
reflected
in
her
,
as
if
the
sun
of
the
love
of
men
and
women
rose
over
the
rim
of
the
table-cloth
,
and
without
knowing
what
it
was
she
bent
towards
it
and
greeted
it
.
She
kept
looking
at
Minta
,
shyly
,
yet
curiously
,
so
that
Mrs.
Ramsay
looked
from
one
to
the
other
and
said
,
speaking
to
Prue
in
her
own
mind
,
You
will
be
as
happy
as
she
is
one
of
these
days
.
You
will
be
much
happier
,
she
added
,
because
you
are
my
daughter
,
she
meant
;
her
own
daughter
must
be
happier
than
other
people
's
daughters
.
But
dinner
was
over
.
It
was
time
to
go
.
They
were
only
playing
with
things
on
their
plates
.
She
would
wait
until
they
had
done
laughing
at
some
story
her
husband
was
telling
.
He
was
having
a
joke
with
Minta
about
a
bet
.
Then
she
would
get
up
.
She
liked
Charles
Tansley
,
she
thought
,
suddenly
;
she
liked
his
laugh
.
She
liked
him
for
being
so
angry
with
Paul
and
Minta
.
She
liked
his
awkwardness
.
There
was
a
lot
in
that
young
man
after
all
.
And
Lily
,
she
thought
,
putting
her
napkin
beside
her
plate
,
she
always
has
some
joke
of
her
own
.
One
need
never
bother
about
Lily
.
She
waited
.
She
tucked
her
napkin
under
the
edge
of
her
plate
.
Well
,
were
they
done
now
?
No
.
That
story
had
led
to
another
story
.
Her
husband
was
in
great
spirits
tonight
,
and
wishing
,
she
supposed
,
to
make
it
all
right
with
old
Augustus
after
that
scene
about
the
soup
,
had
drawn
him
in
--
they
were
telling
stories
about
some
one
they
had
both
known
at
college
.
She
looked
at
the
window
in
which
the
candle
flames
burnt
brighter
now
that
the
panes
were
black
,
and
looking
at
that
outside
the
voices
came
to
her
very
strangely
,
as
if
they
were
voices
at
a
service
in
a
cathedral
,
for
she
did
not
listen
to
the
words
.
The
sudden
bursts
of
laughter
and
then
one
voice
(
Minta
's
)
speaking
alone
,
reminded
her
of
men
and
boys
crying
out
the
Latin
words
of
a
service
in
some
Roman
Catholic
cathedral
.
She
waited
.
Her
husband
spoke
.
He
was
repeating
something
,
and
she
knew
it
was
poetry
from
the
rhythm
and
the
ring
of
exultation
,
and
melancholy
in
his
voice
:
Come
out
and
climb
the
garden
path
,
Luriana
Lurilee
.
The
China
rose
is
all
abloom
and
buzzing
with
the
yellow
bee
.
The
words
(
she
was
looking
at
the
window
)
sounded
as
if
they
were
floating
like
flowers
on
water
out
there
,
cut
off
from
them
all
,
as
if
no
one
had
said
them
,
but
they
had
come
into
existence
of
themselves
.
And
all
the
lives
we
ever
lived
and
all
the
lives
to
be
Are
full
of
trees
and
changing
leaves
.
She
did
not
know
what
they
meant
,
but
,
like
music
,
the
words
seemed
to
be
spoken
by
her
own
voice
,
outside
her
self
,
saying
quite
easily
and
naturally
what
had
been
in
her
mind
the
whole
evening
while
she
said
different
things
.
She
knew
,
without
looking
round
,
that
every
one
at
the
table
was
listening
to
the
voice
saying
:
I
wonder
if
it
seems
to
you
,
Luriana
,
Lurilee
