Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Hewasattachingmeaningstowordsofasymbolicalkind.Aserioussymptom,tobenotedonthecard.

           “TheWar?”thepatientasked.TheEuropeanWar—thatlittleshindyofschoolboyswithgunpowder?Hadheservedwithdistinction?Hereallyforgot.IntheWaritselfhehadfailed.

           “Yes,heservedwiththegreatestdistinction,”Reziaassuredthedoctor;“hewaspromoted.”

           “Andtheyhavetheveryhighestopinionofyouatyouroffice?”SirWilliammurmured,glancingatMr.Brewer’sverygenerouslywordedletter.“Sothatyouhavenothingtoworryyou,nofinancialanxiety,nothing?”

           Hehadcommittedanappallingcrimeandbeencondemnedtodeathbyhumannature.

           “Ihave—Ihave,”hebegan,“committedacrime—”

           “Hehasdonenothingwrongwhatever,”Reziaassuredthedoctor.IfMr.Smithwouldwait,saidSirWilliam,hewouldspeaktoMrs.Smithinthenextroom.Herhusbandwasveryseriouslyill,SirWilliamsaid.Didhethreatentokillhimself?

           Oh,hedid,shecried.Buthedidnotmeanit,shesaid.Ofcoursenot.Itwasmerelyaquestionofrest,saidSirWilliam;ofrest,rest,rest;alongrestinbed.Therewasadelightfulhomedowninthecountrywhereherhusbandwouldbeperfectlylookedafter.Awayfromher?sheasked.Unfortunately,yes;thepeoplewecareformostarenotgoodforuswhenweareill.