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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Стр. 45/72
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"
How
nice
it
would
be
to
marry
a
man
with
a
wash-leather
bag
for
his
watch
,
"
she
said
,
for
that
was
the
sort
of
joke
they
had
together
.
He
snorted
.
He
felt
about
this
engagement
as
he
always
felt
about
any
engagement
;
the
girl
is
much
too
good
for
that
young
man
.
Slowly
it
came
into
her
head
,
why
is
it
then
that
one
wants
people
to
marry
?
What
was
the
value
,
the
meaning
of
things
?
(
Every
word
they
said
now
would
be
true
.
)
Do
say
something
,
she
thought
,
wishing
only
to
hear
his
voice
.
For
the
shadow
,
the
thing
folding
them
in
was
beginning
,
she
felt
,
to
close
round
her
again
.
Say
anything
,
she
begged
,
looking
at
him
,
as
if
for
help
.
He
was
silent
,
swinging
the
compass
on
his
watch-chain
to
and
fro
,
and
thinking
of
Scott
's
novels
and
Balzac
's
novels
.
But
through
the
crepuscular
walls
of
their
intimacy
,
for
they
were
drawing
together
,
involuntarily
,
coming
side
by
side
,
quite
close
,
she
could
feel
his
mind
like
a
raised
hand
shadowing
her
mind
;
and
he
was
beginning
,
now
that
her
thoughts
took
a
turn
he
disliked
--
towards
this
"
pessimism
"
as
he
called
it
--
to
fidget
,
though
he
said
nothing
,
raising
his
hand
to
his
forehead
,
twisting
a
lock
of
hair
,
letting
it
fall
again
.
"
You
wo
n't
finish
that
stocking
tonight
,
"
he
said
,
pointing
to
her
stocking
.
That
was
what
she
wanted
--
the
asperity
in
his
voice
reproving
her
.
If
he
says
it
's
wrong
to
be
pessimistic
probably
it
is
wrong
,
she
thought
;
the
marriage
will
turn
out
all
right
.
"
No
,
"
she
said
,
flattening
the
stocking
out
upon
her
knee
,
"
I
sha
n't
finish
it
.
"
And
what
then
?
For
she
felt
that
he
was
still
looking
at
her
,
but
that
his
look
had
changed
.
He
wanted
something
--
wanted
the
thing
she
always
found
it
so
difficult
to
give
him
;
wanted
her
to
tell
him
that
she
loved
him
.
And
that
,
no
,
she
could
not
do
.
He
found
talking
so
much
easier
than
she
did
.
He
could
say
things
--
she
never
could
.
So
naturally
it
was
always
he
that
said
the
things
,
and
then
for
some
reason
he
would
mind
this
suddenly
,
and
would
reproach
her
.
A
heartless
woman
he
called
her
;
she
never
told
him
that
she
loved
him
.
But
it
was
not
so
--
it
was
not
so
.
It
was
only
that
she
never
could
say
what
she
felt
.
Was
there
no
crumb
on
his
coat
?
Nothing
she
could
do
for
him
?
Getting
up
,
she
stood
at
the
window
with
the
reddish-brown
stocking
in
her
hands
,
partly
to
turn
away
from
him
,
partly
because
she
remembered
how
beautiful
it
often
is
--
the
sea
at
night
.
But
she
knew
that
he
had
turned
his
head
as
she
turned
;
he
was
watching
her
.
She
knew
that
he
was
thinking
,
You
are
more
beautiful
than
ever
.
And
she
felt
herself
very
beautiful
Will
you
not
tell
me
just
for
once
that
you
love
me
?
He
was
thinking
that
,
for
he
was
roused
,
what
with
Minta
and
his
book
,
and
its
being
the
end
of
the
day
and
their
having
quarrelled
about
going
to
the
Lighthouse
.
But
she
could
not
do
it
;
she
could
not
say
it
.
Then
,
knowing
that
he
was
watching
her
,
instead
of
saying
anything
she
turned
,
holding
her
stocking
,
and
looked
at
him
.
And
as
she
looked
at
him
she
began
to
smile
,
for
though
she
had
not
said
a
word
,
he
knew
,
of
course
he
knew
,
that
she
loved
him
.
He
could
not
deny
it
.
And
smiling
she
looked
out
of
the
window
and
said
(
thinking
to
herself
,
Nothing
on
earth
can
equal
this
happiness
)
--
"
Yes
,
you
were
right
.
It
's
going
to
be
wet
tomorrow
.
You
wo
n't
be
able
to
go
.
"
And
she
looked
at
him
smiling
.
For
she
had
triumphed
again
.
She
had
not
said
it
:
yet
he
knew
.
"
Well
,
we
must
wait
for
the
future
to
show
,
"
said
Mr.
Bankes
,
coming
in
from
the
terrace
.
"
It
's
almost
too
dark
to
see
,
"
said
Andrew
,
coming
up
from
the
beach
.
