Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Yes,theylikedamanwhosaid,“Bartlettpears.”Theylikedhim,hefelt.

           HewouldgotoClarissa’sparty.(TheMorrisesmovedoff;buttheywouldmeetagain.)HewouldgotoClarissa’sparty,becausehewantedtoaskRichardwhattheyweredoinginIndia—theconservativeduffers.Andwhat’sbeingacted?Andmusic....Ohyes,andmeregossip.

           Forthisisthetruthaboutoursoul,hethought,ourself,whofish-likeinhabitsdeepseasandpliesamongobscuritiesthreadingherwaybetweenthebolesofgiantweeds,oversun-flickeredspacesandonandonintogloom,cold,deep,inscrutable;suddenlysheshootstothesurfaceandsportsonthewind-wrinkledwaves;thatis,hasapositiveneedtobrush,scrape,kindleherself,gossiping.WhatdidtheGovernmentmean—RichardDallowaywouldknow—todoaboutIndia?

           Sinceitwasaveryhotnightandthepaperboyswentbywithplacardsproclaiminginhugeredlettersthattherewasaheat-wave,wickerchairswereplacedonthehotelstepsandthere,sipping,smoking,detachedgentlemensat.PeterWalshsatthere.Onemightfancythatday,theLondonday,wasjustbeginning.