Миссис Дэллоуэй

           (ShemustremembereverythingtotellEdith.)Girlsworestraightfrocks,perfectlytight,withskirtswellabovetheankles.Itwasnotbecoming,shethought.

           So,withherweakeyesight,EllieHendersoncranedratherforward,anditwasn’tsomuchshewhomindednothavinganyonetotalkto(shehardlyknewanybodythere),forshefeltthattheywereallsuchinterestingpeopletowatch;politicianspresumably;RichardDalloway’sfriends;butitwasRichardhimselfwhofeltthathecouldnotletthepoorcreaturegoonstandingtherealltheeveningbyherself.

           “Well,Ellie,andhow’stheworldtreatingYOU?”hesaidinhisgenialway,andEllieHenderson,gettingnervousandflushingandfeelingthatitwasextraordinarilyniceofhimtocomeandtalktoher,saidthatmanypeoplereallyfelttheheatmorethanthecold.

           “Yes,theydo,”saidRichardDalloway.“Yes.”

           Butwhatmoredidonesay?

           “Hullo,Richard,”saidsomebody,takinghimbytheelbow,and,goodLord,therewasoldPeter,oldPeterWalsh.Hewasdelightedtoseehim—eversopleasedtoseehim!Hehadn’tchangedabit.Andofftheywenttogetherwalkingrightacrosstheroom,givingeachotherlittlepats,asiftheyhadn’tmetforalongtime,EllieHendersonthought,watchingthemgo,certainsheknewthatman’sface.Atallman,middleaged,ratherfineeyes,dark,wearingspectacles,withalookofJohnBurrows.Edithwouldbesuretoknow.