Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Butshe’sextraordinarilyattractive,hethought,as,walkingacrossTrafalgarSquareinthedirectionoftheHaymarket,cameayoungwomanwho,asshepassedGordon’sstatue,seemed,PeterWalshthought(susceptibleashewas),toshedveilafterveil,untilshebecametheverywomanhehadalwayshadinmind;young,butstately;merry,butdiscreet;black,butenchanting.

           Straighteninghimselfandstealthilyfingeringhispocket-knifehestartedafterhertofollowthiswoman,thisexcitement,whichseemedevenwithitsbackturnedtoshedonhimalightwhichconnectedthem,whichsingledhimout,asiftherandomuproarofthetraffichadwhisperedthroughhollowedhandshisname,notPeter,buthisprivatenamewhichhecalledhimselfinhisownthoughts.“You,”shesaid,only“you,”sayingitwithherwhiteglovesandhershoulders.ThenthethinlongcloakwhichthewindstirredasshewalkedpastDent’sshopinCockspurStreetblewoutwithanenvelopingkindness,amournfultenderness,asofarmsthatwouldopenandtakethetired—

           Butshe’snotmarried;she’syoung;quiteyoung,thoughtPeter,theredcarnationhehadseenherwearasshecameacrossTrafalgarSquareburningagaininhiseyesandmakingherlipsred.Butshewaitedatthekerbstone.Therewasadignityabouther.Shewasnotworldly,likeClarissa;notrich,likeClarissa.