Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Stillthefutureofcivilisationlies,hethought,inthehandsofyoungmenlikethat;ofyoungmensuchashewas,thirtyyearsago;withtheirloveofabstractprinciples;gettingbookssentouttothemallthewayfromLondontoapeakintheHimalayas;readingscience;readingphilosophy.Thefutureliesinthehandsofyoungmenlikethat,hethought.

           Apatterlikethepatterofleavesinawoodcamefrombehind,andwithitarustling,regularthuddingsound,whichasitovertookhimdrummedhisthoughts,strictinstep,upWhitehall,withouthisdoing.Boysinuniform,carryingguns,marchedwiththeireyesaheadofthem,marched,theirarmsstiff,andontheirfacesanexpressionlikethelettersofalegendwrittenroundthebaseofastatuepraisingduty,gratitude,fidelity,loveofEngland.

           Itis,thoughtPeterWalsh,beginningtokeepstepwiththem,averyfinetraining.Buttheydidnotlookrobust.Theywereweedyforthemostpart,boysofsixteen,whomight,to-morrow,standbehindbowlsofrice,cakesofsoaponcounters.NowtheyworeonthemunmixedwithsensualpleasureordailypreoccupationsthesolemnityofthewreathwhichtheyhadfetchedfromFinsburyPavementtotheemptytomb.Theyhadtakentheirvow.Thetrafficrespectedit;vanswerestopped.