Місіс Деллоуей

           Nothingthatwouldservetoamuseherandmakethatindescribablydried-uplittlewomanlook,asClarissacamein,justforamomentcordial;beforetheysettleddownfortheusualinterminabletalkofwomen’sailments.Howmuchshewantedit—thatpeopleshouldlookpleasedasshecamein,ClarissathoughtandturnedandwalkedbacktowardsBondStreet,annoyed,becauseitwassillytohaveotherreasonsfordoingthings.MuchratherwouldshehavebeenoneofthosepeoplelikeRichardwhodidthingsforthemselves,whereas,shethought,waitingtocross,halfthetimeshedidthingsnotsimply,notforthemselves;buttomakepeoplethinkthisorthat;perfectidiocysheknew(andnowthepolicemanhelduphishand)fornoonewaseverforasecondtakenin.Ohifshecouldhavehadherlifeoveragain!shethought,steppingontothepavement,couldhavelookedevendifferently!

           Shewouldhavebeen,inthefirstplace,darklikeLadyBexborough,withaskinofcrumpledleatherandbeautifuleyes.Shewouldhavebeen,likeLadyBexborough,slowandstately;ratherlarge;interestedinpoliticslikeaman;withacountryhouse;verydignified,verysincere.Insteadofwhichshehadanarrowpea-stickfigure;aridiculouslittleface,beakedlikeabird’s.Thatsheheldherselfwellwastrue;andhadnicehandsandfeet;anddressedwell,consideringthatshespentlittle.Butoftennowthisbodyshewore(shestoppedtolookataDutchpicture),thisbody,withallitscapacities,seemednothing—nothingatall.