Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Coatesinastrained,awe-strickenvoice,gazingstraightup,andherbaby,lyingstiffandwhiteinherarms,gazedstraightup.

           “Kreemo,”murmuredMrs.Bletchley,likeasleep-walker.Withhishatheldoutperfectlystillinhishand,Mr.Bowleygazedstraightup.AlldowntheMallpeoplewerestandingandlookingupintothesky.Astheylookedthewholeworldbecameperfectlysilent,andaflightofgullscrossedthesky,firstonegullleading,thenanother,andinthisextraordinarysilenceandpeace,inthispallor,inthispurity,bellsstruckeleventimes,thesoundfadingupthereamongthegulls.

           Theaeroplaneturnedandracedandswoopedexactlywhereitliked,swiftly,freely,likeaskater—

           “That’sanE,”saidMrs.Bletchley—oradancer—

           “It’stoffee,”murmuredMr.Bowley—(andthecarwentinatthegatesandnobodylookedatit),andshuttingoffthesmoke,awayandawayitrushed,andthesmokefadedandassembleditselfroundthebroadwhiteshapesoftheclouds.

           Ithadgone;itwasbehindtheclouds.Therewasnosound.ThecloudstowhichthelettersE,G,orLhadattachedthemselvesmovedfreely,asifdestinedtocrossfromWesttoEastonamissionofthegreatestimportancewhichwouldneverberevealed,andyetcertainlysoitwas—amissionofthegreatestimportance.