Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Shehadthesimplestegotism,themostopendesiretobethoughtfirstalways,andClarissalovedherforbeingstilllikethat.“Ican’tbelieveit!”shecried,kindlingalloverwithpleasureatthethoughtofthepast.

           Butalas,Wilkins;Wilkinswantedher;Wilkinswasemittinginavoiceofcommandingauthorityasifthewholecompanymustbeadmonishedandthehostessreclaimedfromfrivolity,onename:

           “ThePrimeMinister,”saidPeterWalsh.

           ThePrimeMinister?Wasitreally?EllieHendersonmarvelled.WhatathingtotellEdith!

           Onecouldn’tlaughathim.Helookedsoordinary.Youmighthavestoodhimbehindacounterandboughtbiscuits—poorchap,allriggedupingoldlace.Andtobefair,ashewenthisrounds,firstwithClarissathenwithRichardescortinghim,hediditverywell.Hetriedtolooksomebody.Itwasamusingtowatch.Nobodylookedathim.Theyjustwentontalking,yetitwasperfectlyplainthattheyallknew,felttothemarrowoftheirbones,thismajestypassing;thissymbolofwhattheyallstoodfor,Englishsociety.OldLadyBruton,andshelookedveryfinetoo,verystalwartinherlace,swamup,andtheywithdrewintoalittleroomwhichatoncebecamespiedupon,guarded,andasortofstirandrustlerippledthrougheveryone,openly:thePrimeMinister!

           Lord,lord,thesnobberyoftheEnglish!thoughtPeterWalsh,standinginthecorner.