Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Ohyes,Sallyremembered;shehaditstill,arubyringwhichMarieAntoinettehadgivenhergreat-grandfather.Sheneverhadapennytohernameinthosedays,andgoingtoBourtonalwaysmeantsomefrightfulpinch.ButgoingtoBourtonhadmeantsomuchtoher—hadkepthersane,shebelieved,sounhappyhadshebeenathome.Butthatwasallathingofthepast—allovernow,shesaid.AndMr.Parrywasdead;andMissParrywasstillalive.Neverhadhehadsuchashockinhislife!saidPeter.Hehadbeenquitecertainshewasdead.Andthemarriagehadbeen,Sallysupposed,asuccess?Andthatveryhandsome,veryself-possessedyoungwomanwasElizabeth,overthere,bythecurtains,inred.

           (Shewaslikeapoplar,shewaslikeariver,shewaslikeahyacinth,WillieTitcombwasthinking.Ohhowmuchnicertobeinthecountryanddowhatsheliked!Shecouldhearherpoordoghowling,Elizabethwascertain.)ShewasnotabitlikeClarissa,PeterWalshsaid.

           “Oh,Clarissa!”saidSally.

           WhatSallyfeltwassimplythis.ShehadowedClarissaanenormousamount.Theyhadbeenfriends,notacquaintances,friends,andshestillsawClarissaallinwhitegoingaboutthehousewithherhandsfullofflowers—tothisdaytobaccoplantsmadeherthinkofBourton.But—didPeterunderstand?—shelackedsomething.Lackedwhatwasit?Shehadcharm;shehadextraordinarycharm.