Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Allwerestill;allwerereal.

           “Sheisawomanwithaspitefultongue,”saidRezia.

           “WhatdoesMr.Petersdo?”Septimusasked.

           “Ah,”saidRezia,tryingtoremember.ShethoughtMrs.Filmerhadsaidthathetravelledforsomecompany.“JustnowheisinHull,”shesaid.

           “Justnow!”ShesaidthatwithherItalianaccent.Shesaidthatherself.Heshadedhiseyessothathemightseeonlyalittleofherfaceatatime,firstthechin,thenthenose,thentheforehead,incaseitweredeformed,orhadsometerriblemarkonit.Butno,thereshewas,perfectlynatural,sewing,withthepursedlipsthatwomenhave,theset,themelancholyexpression,whensewing.Buttherewasnothingterribleaboutit,heassuredhimself,lookingasecondtime,athirdtimeatherface,herhands,forwhatwasfrighteningordisgustinginherasshesatthereinbroaddaylight,sewing?Mrs.Petershadaspitefultongue.Mr.PeterswasinHull.Whythenrageandprophesy?Whyflyscourgedandoutcast?Whybemadetotrembleandsobbytheclouds?WhyseektruthsanddelivermessageswhenReziasatstickingpinsintothefrontofherdress,andMr.PeterswasinHull?Miracles,revelations,agonies,loneliness,fallingthroughthesea,down,downintotheflames,allwereburntout,forhehadasense,ashewatchedReziatrimmingthestrawhatforMrs.Peters,ofacoverletofflowers.

           “It’stoosmallforMrs.Peters,”saidSeptimus.