Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Mrs.Dallowaysaidshewouldbuytheflowersherself.

           ForLucyhadherworkcutoutforher.Thedoorswouldbetakenofftheirhinges;Rumpelmayer’smenwerecoming.Andthen,thoughtClarissaDalloway,whatamorning—freshasifissuedtochildrenonabeach.

           Whatalark!Whataplunge!Forsoithadalwaysseemedtoher,when,withalittlesqueakofthehinges,whichshecouldhearnow,shehadburstopentheFrenchwindowsandplungedatBourtonintotheopenair.Howfresh,howcalm,stillerthanthisofcourse,theairwasintheearlymorning;liketheflapofawave;thekissofawave;chillandsharpandyet(foragirlofeighteenasshethenwas)solemn,feelingasshedid,standingthereattheopenwindow,thatsomethingawfulwasabouttohappen;lookingattheflowers,atthetreeswiththesmokewindingoffthemandtherooksrising,falling;standingandlookinguntilPeterWalshsaid,“Musingamongthevegetables?”—wasthatit?—“Iprefermentocauliflowers”—wasthatit?Hemusthavesaiditatbreakfastonemorningwhenshehadgoneoutontotheterrace—PeterWalsh.HewouldbebackfromIndiaoneofthesedays,JuneorJuly,sheforgotwhich,forhisletterswereawfullydull;itwashissayingsoneremembered;hiseyes,hispocket-knife,hissmile,hisgrumpinessand,whenmillionsofthingshadutterlyvanished—howstrangeitwas!—afewsayingslikethisaboutcabbages.

           Shestiffenedalittleonthekerb,waitingforDurtnall’svantopass.