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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Стр. 4/72
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"
Let
's
go
,
"
he
said
,
repeating
her
words
,
clicking
them
out
,
however
,
with
a
self-consciousness
that
made
her
wince
.
"
Let
us
all
go
to
the
circus
.
"
No
.
He
could
not
say
it
right
.
He
could
not
feel
it
right
.
But
why
not
?
she
wondered
.
What
was
wrong
with
him
then
?
She
liked
him
warmly
,
at
the
moment
.
Had
they
not
been
taken
,
she
asked
,
to
circuses
when
they
were
children
?
Never
,
he
answered
,
as
if
she
asked
the
very
thing
he
wanted
;
had
been
longing
all
these
days
to
say
,
how
they
did
not
go
to
circuses
.
It
was
a
large
family
,
nine
brothers
and
sisters
,
and
his
father
was
a
working
man
.
"
My
father
is
a
chemist
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
.
He
keeps
a
shop
.
"
He
himself
had
paid
his
own
way
since
he
was
thirteen
.
Often
he
went
without
a
greatcoat
in
winter
.
He
could
never
"
return
hospitality
"
(
those
were
his
parched
stiff
words
)
at
college
.
He
had
to
make
things
last
twice
the
time
other
people
did
;
he
smoked
the
cheapest
tobacco
;
shag
;
the
same
the
old
men
did
in
the
quays
.
He
worked
hard
--
seven
hours
a
day
;
his
subject
was
now
the
influence
of
something
upon
somebody
--
they
were
walking
on
and
Mrs.
Ramsay
did
not
quite
catch
the
meaning
,
only
the
words
,
here
and
there
...
dissertation
...
fellowship
...
readership
...
lectureship
.
She
could
not
follow
the
ugly
academic
jargon
,
that
rattled
itself
off
so
glibly
,
but
said
to
herself
that
she
saw
now
why
going
to
the
circus
had
knocked
him
off
his
perch
,
poor
little
man
,
and
why
he
came
out
,
instantly
,
with
all
that
about
his
father
and
mother
and
brothers
and
sisters
,
and
she
would
see
to
it
that
they
did
n't
laugh
at
him
any
more
;
she
would
tell
Prue
about
it
.
What
he
would
have
liked
,
she
supposed
,
would
have
been
to
say
how
he
had
gone
not
to
the
circus
but
to
Ibsen
with
the
Ramsays
.
He
was
an
awful
prig
--
oh
yes
,
an
insufferable
bore
.
For
,
though
they
had
reached
the
town
now
and
were
in
the
main
street
,
with
carts
grinding
past
on
the
cobbles
,
still
he
went
on
talking
,
about
settlements
,
and
teaching
,
and
working
men
,
and
helping
our
own
class
,
and
lectures
,
till
she
gathered
that
he
had
got
back
entire
self-confidence
,
had
recovered
from
the
circus
,
and
was
about
(
and
now
again
she
liked
him
warmly
)
to
tell
her
--
but
here
,
the
houses
falling
away
on
both
sides
,
they
came
out
on
the
quay
,
and
the
whole
bay
spread
before
them
and
Mrs.
Ramsay
could
not
help
exclaiming
,
"
Oh
,
how
beautiful
!
"
For
the
great
plateful
of
blue
water
was
before
her
;
the
hoary
Lighthouse
,
distant
,
austere
,
in
the
midst
;
and
on
the
right
,
as
far
as
the
eye
could
see
,
fading
and
falling
,
in
soft
low
pleats
,
the
green
sand
dunes
with
the
wild
flowing
grasses
on
them
,
which
always
seemed
to
be
running
away
into
some
moon
country
,
uninhabited
of
men
.
That
was
the
view
,
she
said
,
stopping
,
growing
greyer-eyed
,
that
her
husband
loved
.
She
paused
a
moment
.
But
now
,
she
said
,
artists
had
come
here
.
There
indeed
,
only
a
few
paces
off
,
stood
one
of
them
,
in
Panama
hat
and
yellow
boots
,
seriously
,
softly
,
absorbedly
,
for
all
that
he
was
watched
by
ten
little
boys
,
with
an
air
of
profound
contentment
on
his
round
red
face
gazing
,
and
then
,
when
he
had
gazed
,
dipping
;
imbuing
the
tip
of
his
brush
in
some
soft
mound
of
green
or
pink
.
Since
Mr.
Paunceforte
had
been
there
,
three
years
before
,
all
the
pictures
were
like
that
,
she
said
,
green
and
grey
,
with
lemon-coloured
sailing-boats
,
and
pink
women
on
the
beach
.
But
her
grandmother
's
friends
,
she
said
,
glancing
discreetly
as
they
passed
,
took
the
greatest
pains
;
first
they
mixed
their
own
colours
,
and
then
they
ground
them
,
and
then
they
put
damp
cloths
to
keep
them
moist
.
So
Mr.
Tansley
supposed
she
meant
him
to
see
that
that
man
's
picture
was
skimpy
,
was
that
what
one
said
?
The
colours
were
n't
solid
?
Was
that
what
one
said
?
Under
the
influence
of
that
extraordinary
emotion
which
had
been
growing
all
the
walk
,
had
begun
in
the
garden
when
he
had
wanted
to
take
her
bag
,
had
increased
in
the
town
when
he
had
wanted
to
tell
her
everything
about
himself
,
he
was
coming
to
see
himself
,
and
everything
he
had
ever
known
gone
crooked
a
little
.
It
was
awfully
strange
.
There
he
stood
in
the
parlour
of
the
poky
little
house
where
she
had
taken
him
,
waiting
for
her
,
while
she
went
upstairs
a
moment
to
see
a
woman
.
He
heard
her
quick
step
above
;
heard
her
voice
cheerful
,
then
low
;
looked
at
the
mats
,
tea-caddies
,
glass
shades
;
waited
quite
impatiently
;
looked
forward
eagerly
to
the
walk
home
;
determined
to
carry
her
bag
;
then
heard
her
come
out
;
shut
a
door
;
say
they
must
keep
the
windows
open
and
the
doors
shut
,
ask
at
the
house
for
anything
they
wanted
(
she
must
be
talking
to
a
child
)
when
,
suddenly
,
in
she
came
,
stood
for
a
moment
silent
(
as
if
she
had
been
pretending
up
there
,
and
for
a
moment
let
herself
be
now
)
,
stood
quite
motionless
for
a
moment
against
a
picture
of
Queen
Victoria
wearing
the
blue
ribbon
of
the
Garter
;
when
all
at
once
he
realised
that
it
was
this
:
it
was
this
:
--
she
was
the
most
beautiful
person
he
had
ever
seen
.
With
stars
in
her
eyes
and
veils
in
her
hair
,
with
cyclamen
and
wild
violets
--
what
nonsense
was
he
thinking
?
She
was
fifty
at
least
;
she
had
eight
children
