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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Стр. 58/72
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But
I
beneath
a
rougher
sea
Was
whelmed
in
deeper
gulfs
than
he
,
so
that
the
mournful
words
were
heard
quite
clearly
by
them
all
.
Cam
half
started
on
her
seat
.
It
shocked
her
--
it
outraged
her
.
The
movement
roused
her
father
;
and
he
shuddered
,
and
broke
off
,
exclaiming
:
"
Look
!
Look
!
"
so
urgently
that
James
also
turned
his
head
to
look
over
his
shoulder
at
the
island
.
They
all
looked
.
They
looked
at
the
island
.
But
Cam
could
see
nothing
.
She
was
thinking
how
all
those
paths
and
the
lawn
,
thick
and
knotted
with
the
lives
they
had
lived
there
,
were
gone
:
were
rubbed
out
;
were
past
;
were
unreal
,
and
now
this
was
real
;
the
boat
and
the
sail
with
its
patch
;
Macalister
with
his
earrings
;
the
noise
of
the
waves
--
all
this
was
real
.
Thinking
this
,
she
was
murmuring
to
herself
,
"
We
perished
,
each
alone
,
"
for
her
father
's
words
broke
and
broke
again
in
her
mind
,
when
her
father
,
seeing
her
gazing
so
vaguely
,
began
to
tease
her
.
Did
n't
she
know
the
points
of
the
compass
?
he
asked
.
Did
n't
she
know
the
North
from
the
South
?
Did
she
really
think
they
lived
right
out
there
?
And
he
pointed
again
,
and
showed
her
where
their
house
was
,
there
,
by
those
trees
.
He
wished
she
would
try
to
be
more
accurate
,
he
said
:
"
Tell
me
--
which
is
East
,
which
is
West
?
"
he
said
,
half
laughing
at
her
,
half
scolding
her
,
for
he
could
not
understand
the
state
of
mind
of
any
one
,
not
absolutely
imbecile
,
who
did
not
know
the
points
of
the
compass
.
Yet
she
did
not
know
.
And
seeing
her
gazing
,
with
her
vague
,
now
rather
frightened
,
eyes
fixed
where
no
house
was
Mr.
Ramsay
forgot
his
dream
;
how
he
walked
up
and
down
between
the
urns
on
the
terrace
;
how
the
arms
were
stretched
out
to
him
.
He
thought
,
women
are
always
like
that
;
the
vagueness
of
their
minds
is
hopeless
;
it
was
a
thing
he
had
never
been
able
to
understand
;
but
so
it
was
.
It
had
been
so
with
her
--
his
wife
.
They
could
not
keep
anything
clearly
fixed
in
their
minds
.
But
he
had
been
wrong
to
be
angry
with
her
;
moreover
,
did
he
not
rather
like
this
vagueness
in
women
?
It
was
part
of
their
extraordinary
charm
.
I
will
make
her
smile
at
me
,
he
thought
.
She
looks
frightened
.
She
was
so
silent
.
He
clutched
his
fingers
,
and
determined
that
his
voice
and
his
face
and
all
the
quick
expressive
gestures
which
had
been
at
his
command
making
people
pity
him
and
praise
him
all
these
years
should
subdue
themselves
.
He
would
make
her
smile
at
him
.
He
would
find
some
simple
easy
thing
to
say
to
her
.
But
what
?
For
,
wrapped
up
in
his
work
as
he
was
,
he
forgot
the
sort
of
thing
one
said
.
There
was
a
puppy
.
They
had
a
puppy
.
Who
was
looking
after
the
puppy
today
?
he
asked
.
Yes
,
thought
James
pitilessly
,
seeing
his
sister
's
head
against
the
sail
,
now
she
will
give
way
.
I
shall
be
left
to
fight
the
tyrant
alone
.
The
compact
would
be
left
to
him
to
carry
out
.
Cam
would
never
resist
tyranny
to
the
death
,
he
thought
grimly
,
watching
her
face
,
sad
,
sulky
,
yielding
.
And
as
sometimes
happens
when
a
cloud
falls
on
a
green
hillside
and
gravity
descends
and
there
among
all
the
surrounding
hills
is
gloom
and
sorrow
,
and
it
seems
as
if
the
hills
themselves
must
ponder
the
fate
of
the
clouded
,
the
darkened
,
either
in
pity
,
or
maliciously
rejoicing
in
her
dismay
:
so
Cam
now
felt
herself
overcast
,
as
she
sat
there
among
calm
,
resolute
people
and
wondered
how
to
answer
her
father
about
the
puppy
;
how
to
resist
his
entreaty
--
forgive
me
,
care
for
me
;
while
James
the
lawgiver
,
with
the
tablets
of
eternal
wisdom
laid
open
on
his
knee
(
his
hand
on
the
tiller
had
become
symbolical
to
her
)
,
said
,
Resist
him
.
Fight
him
.
He
said
so
rightly
;
justly
.
For
they
must
fight
tyranny
to
the
death
,
she
thought
.
Of
all
human
qualities
she
reverenced
justice
most
.
Her
brother
was
most
god-like
,
her
father
most
suppliant
.
And
to
which
did
she
yield
,
she
thought
,
sitting
between
them
,
gazing
at
the
shore
whose
points
were
all
unknown
to
her
,
and
thinking
how
the
lawn
and
the
terrace
and
the
house
were
smoothed
away
now
and
peace
dwelt
there
.
"
Jasper
,
"
she
said
sullenly
.
He
'd
look
after
the
puppy
.
And
what
was
she
going
to
call
him
?
her
father
persisted
.
He
had
had
a
dog
when
he
was
a
little
boy
,
called
Frisk
.
She
'll
give
way
,
James
thought
,
as
he
watched
a
look
come
upon
her
face
,
a
look
he
remembered
.
They
look
down
he
thought
,
at
their
knitting
or
something
.
Then
suddenly
they
look
up
.
There
was
a
flash
of
blue
,
he
remembered
,
and
then
somebody
sitting
with
him
laughed
,
surrendered
,
and
he
was
very
angry
.
It
must
have
been
his
mother
,
he
thought
,
sitting
on
a
low
chair
,
with
his
father
standing
over
her
.
He
began
to
search
among
the
infinite
series
of
impressions
which
time
had
laid
down
,
leaf
upon
leaf
,
fold
upon
fold
softly
,
incessantly
upon
his
brain
;
among
scents
,
sounds
;
voices
,
harsh
,
hollow
,
sweet
;
and
lights
passing
,
and
brooms
tapping
;
and
the
wash
and
hush
of
the
sea
,
how
a
man
had
marched
up
and
down
and
stopped
dead
,
upright
,
over
them
.
Meanwhile
,
he
noticed
,
Cam
dabbled
her
fingers
in
the
water
,
and
stared
at
the
shore
and
said
nothing
.
No
,
she
wo
n't
give
way
,
he
thought
;
she
's
different
,
he
thought
.
Well
,
if
Cam
would
not
answer
him
,
he
would
not
bother
her
Mr.
Ramsay
decided
,
feeling
in
his
pocket
for
a
book
.
But
she
would
answer
him
;
she
wished
,
passionately
,
to
move
some
obstacle
that
lay
upon
her
tongue
and
to
say
,
Oh
,
yes
,
Frisk
.
I
'll
call
him
Frisk
.
She
wanted
even
to
say
,
Was
that
the
dog
that
found
its
way
over
the
moor
alone
?
But
try
as
she
might
,
she
could
think
of
nothing
to
say
like
that
,
fierce
and
loyal
to
the
compact
,
yet
passing
on
to
her
father
,
unsuspected
by
James
,
a
private
token
of
the
love
she
felt
for
him
.
For
she
thought
,
dabbling
her
hand
(
and
now
Macalister
's
boy
had
caught
a
mackerel
,
and
it
lay
kicking
on
the
floor
,
with
blood
on
its
gills
)
for
she
thought
,
looking
at
James
who
kept
his
eyes
dispassionately
on
the
sail
,
or
glanced
now
and
then
for
a
second
at
the
horizon
,
you
're
not
exposed
to
it
,
to
this
pressure
and
division
of
feeling
,
this
extraordinary
temptation
.
Her
father
was
feeling
in
his
pockets
;
in
another
second
,
he
would
have
found
his
book
.
For
no
one
attracted
her
more
;
his
hands
were
beautiful
,
and
his
feet
,
and
his
voice
,
and
his
words
,
and
his
haste
,
and
his
temper
,
and
his
oddity
,
and
his
passion
,
and
his
saying
straight
out
before
every
one
,
we
perish
,
each
alone
,
and
his
remoteness
.
(
He
had
opened
his
book
.
)
But
what
remained
intolerable
,
she
thought
,
sitting
upright
,
and
watching
Macalister
's
boy
tug
the
hook
out
of
the
gills
of
another
fish
,
was
that
crass
blindness
and
tyranny
of
his
which
had
poisoned
her
childhood
and
raised
bitter
storms
,
so
that
even
now
she
woke
in
the
night
trembling
with
rage
and
remembered
some
command
of
his
;
some
insolence
:
"
Do
this
,
"
"
Do
that
,
"
his
dominance
:
his
"
Submit
to
me
.
"
