Миссис Дэллоуэй

           Hesaidpeopleweretalkingbehindthebedroomwalls.Mrs.Filmerthoughtitodd.Hesawthingstoo—hehadseenanoldwoman’sheadinthemiddleofafern.Yethecouldbehappywhenhechose.TheywenttoHamptonCourtontopofabus,andtheywereperfectlyhappy.Allthelittleredandyellowflowerswereoutonthegrass,likefloatinglampshesaid,andtalkedandchatteredandlaughed,makingupstories.Suddenlyhesaid,“Nowwewillkillourselves,”whentheywerestandingbytheriver,andhelookedatitwithalookwhichshehadseeninhiseyeswhenatrainwentby,oranomnibus—alookasifsomethingfascinatedhim;andshefelthewasgoingfromherandshecaughthimbythearm.Butgoinghomehewasperfectlyquiet—perfectlyreasonable.Hewouldarguewithheraboutkillingthemselves;andexplainhowwickedpeoplewere;howhecouldseethemmakingupliesastheypassedinthestreet.Heknewalltheirthoughts,hesaid;hekneweverything.Heknewthemeaningoftheworld,hesaid.

           Thenwhentheygotbackhecouldhardlywalk.Helayonthesofaandmadeherholdhishandtopreventhimfromfallingdown,down,hecried,intotheflames!andsawfaceslaughingathim,callinghimhorribledisgustingnames,fromthewalls,andhandspointingroundthescreen.Yettheywerequitealone.Buthebegantotalkaloud,answeringpeople,arguing,laughing,crying,gettingveryexcitedandmakingherwritethingsdown.Perfectnonsenseitwas;aboutdeath;aboutMissIsabelPole.Shecouldstanditnolonger.