Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Ican’tkeepupwiththem,PeterWalshthought,astheymarchedupWhitehall,andsureenough,ontheymarched,pasthim,pasteveryone,intheirsteadyway,asifonewillworkedlegsandarmsuniformly,andlife,withitsvarieties,itsirreticences,hadbeenlaidunderapavementofmonumentsandwreathsanddruggedintoastiffyetstaringcorpsebydiscipline.Onehadtorespectit;onemightlaugh;butonehadtorespectit,hethought.Theretheygo,thoughtPeterWalsh,pausingattheedgeofthepavement;andalltheexaltedstatues,Nelson,Gordon,Havelock,theblack,thespectacularimagesofgreatsoldiersstoodlookingaheadofthem,asiftheytoohadmadethesamerenunciation(PeterWalshfelthetoohadmadeit,thegreatrenunciation),trampledunderthesametemptations,andachievedatlengthamarblestare.ButthestarePeterWalshdidnotwantforhimselfintheleast;thoughhecouldrespectitinothers.Hecouldrespectitinboys.Theydon’tknowthetroublesofthefleshyet,hethought,asthemarchingboysdisappearedinthedirectionoftheStrand—allthatI’vebeenthrough,hethought,crossingtheroad,andstandingunderGordon’sstatue,Gordonwhomasaboyhehadworshipped;Gordonstandinglonelywithonelegraisedandhisarmscrossed—poorGordon,hethought.