Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Itwasherlife,and,bendingherheadoverthehalltable,shebowedbeneaththeinfluence,feltblessedandpurified,sayingtoherself,asshetookthepadwiththetelephonemessageonit,howmomentslikethisarebudsonthetreeoflife,flowersofdarknesstheyare,shethought(asifsomelovelyrosehadblossomedforhereyesonly);notforamomentdidshebelieveinGod;butallthemore,shethought,takingupthepad,mustonerepayindailylifetoservants,yes,todogsandcanaries,abovealltoRichardherhusband,whowasthefoundationofit—ofthegaysounds,ofthegreenlights,ofthecookevenwhistling,forMrs.WalkerwasIrishandwhistledalldaylong—onemustpaybackfromthissecretdepositofexquisitemoments,shethought,liftingthepad,whileLucystoodbyher,tryingtoexplainhow

           “Mr.Dalloway,ma’am”—

           Clarissareadonthetelephonepad,“LadyBrutonwishestoknowifMr.Dallowaywilllunchwithherto-day.”

           “Mr.Dalloway,ma’am,toldmetotellyouhewouldbelunchingout.”

           “Dear!”saidClarissa,andLucysharedasshemeanthertoherdisappointment(butnotthepang);felttheconcordbetweenthem;tookthehint;thoughthowthegentrylove;gildedherownfuturewithcalm;and,takingMrs.Dalloway’sparasol,handleditlikeasacredweaponwhichaGoddess,havingacquittedherselfhonourablyinthefieldofbattle,sheds,andplaceditintheumbrellastand.

           “Fearnomore,”saidClarissa.