Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Arewenotallprisoners?Shehadreadawonderfulplayaboutamanwhoscratchedonthewallofhiscell,andshehadfeltthatwastrueoflife—onescratchedonthewall.Despairingofhumanrelationships(peopleweresodifficult),sheoftenwentintohergardenandgotfromherflowersapeacewhichmenandwomennevergaveher.Butno;hedidnotlikecabbages;hepreferredhumanbeings,Petersaid.Indeed,theyoungarebeautiful,Sallysaid,watchingElizabethcrosstheroom.HowunlikeClarissaatherage!Couldhemakeanythingofher?Shewouldnotopenherlips.Notmuch,notyet,Peteradmitted.Shewaslikealily,Sallysaid,alilybythesideofapool.ButPeterdidnotagreethatweknownothing.Weknoweverything,hesaid;atleasthedid.

           Butthesetwo,Sallywhispered,thesetwocomingnow(andreallyshemustgo,ifClarissadidnotcomesoon),thisdistinguished-lookingmanandhisrathercommon-lookingwifewhohadbeentalkingtoRichard—whatcouldoneknowaboutpeoplelikethat?

           “Thatthey’redamnablehumbugs,”saidPeter,lookingatthemcasually.HemadeSallylaugh.

           ButSirWilliamBradshawstoppedatthedoortolookatapicture.Helookedinthecornerfortheengraver’sname.Hiswifelookedtoo.SirWilliamBradshawwassointerestedinart.

           Whenonewasyoung,saidPeter,onewastoomuchexcitedtoknowpeople.