Миссис Дэллоуэй

           ForsheneverspokeofEngland,butthisisleofmen,thisdear,dearland,wasinherblood(withoutreadingShakespeare),andifeverawomancouldhavewornthehelmetandshotthearrow,couldhaveledtroopstoattack,ruledwithindomitablejusticebarbarianhordesandlainunderashieldnoselessinachurch,ormadeagreengrassmoundonsomeprimevalhillside,thatwomanwasMillicentBruton.Debarredbyhersexandsometruancy,too,ofthelogicalfaculty(shefounditimpossibletowritealettertotheTimes),shehadthethoughtofEmpirealwaysathand,andhadacquiredfromherassociationwiththatarmouredgoddessherramrodbearing,herrobustnessofdemeanour,sothatonecouldnotfigureherevenindeathpartedfromtheearthorroamingterritoriesoverwhich,insomespiritualshape,theUnionJackhadceasedtofly.TobenotEnglishevenamongthedead—no,no!Impossible!

           ButwasitLadyBruton(whomsheusedtoknow)?WasitPeterWalshgrowngrey?LadyRosseteraskedherself(whohadbeenSallySeton).ItwasoldMissParrycertainly—theoldauntwhousedtobesocrosswhenshestayedatBourton.Nevershouldsheforgetrunningalongthepassagenaked,andbeingsentforbyMissParry!AndClarissa!ohClarissa!Sallycaughtherbythearm.

           Clarissastoppedbesidethem.

           “ButIcan’tstay,”shesaid.“Ishallcomelater.Wait,”shesaid,lookingatPeterandSally.Theymustwait,shemeant,untilallthesepeoplehadgone.