Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Buthowstrange,onenteringthePark,thesilence;themist;thehum;theslow-swimminghappyducks;thepouchedbirdswaddling;andwhoshouldbecomingalongwithhisbackagainsttheGovernmentbuildings,mostappropriately,carryingadespatchboxstampedwiththeRoyalArms,whobutHughWhitbread;heroldfriendHugh—theadmirableHugh!

           “Good-morningtoyou,Clarissa!”saidHugh,ratherextravagantly,fortheyhadknowneachotheraschildren.“Whereareyouoffto?”

           “IlovewalkinginLondon,”saidMrs.Dalloway.“Reallyit’sbetterthanwalkinginthecountry.”

           Theyhadjustcomeup—unfortunately—toseedoctors.Otherpeoplecametoseepictures;gototheopera;taketheirdaughtersout;theWhitbreadscame“toseedoctors.”TimeswithoutnumberClarissahadvisitedEvelynWhitbreadinanursinghome.WasEvelynillagain?Evelynwasagooddealoutofsorts,saidHugh,intimatingbyakindofpoutorswellofhisverywell-covered,manly,extremelyhandsome,perfectlyupholsteredbody(hewasalmosttoowelldressedalways,butpresumablyhadtobe,withhislittlejobatCourt)thathiswifehadsomeinternalailment,nothingserious,which,asanoldfriend,ClarissaDallowaywouldquiteunderstandwithoutrequiringhimtospecify.Ahyes,shedidofcourse;whatanuisance;andfeltverysisterlyandoddlyconsciousatthesametimeofherhat.