Місіс Деллоуей

           TherewasBrewerattheoffice,withhiswaxedmoustache,coraltie-pin,whiteslip,andpleasurableemotions—allcoldnessandclamminesswithin—hisgeraniumsruinedintheWar—hiscook’snervesdestroyed;orAmeliaWhat’shername,handingroundcupsofteapunctuallyatfive—aleering,sneeringobscenelittleharpy;andtheTomsandBertiesintheirstarchedshirtfrontsoozingthickdropsofvice.Theyneversawhimdrawingpicturesofthemnakedattheiranticsinhisnotebook.Inthestreet,vansroaredpasthim;brutalityblaredoutonplacards;menweretrappedinmines;womenburntalive;andonceamaimedfileoflunaticsbeingexercisedordisplayedforthediversionofthepopulace(wholaughedaloud),ambledandnoddedandgrinnedpasthim,intheTottenhamCourtRoad,eachhalfapologetically,yettriumphantly,inflictinghishopelesswoe.AndwouldHEgomad?

           AtteaReziatoldhimthatMrs.Filmer’sdaughterwasexpectingababy.SHEcouldnotgrowoldandhavenochildren!Shewasverylonely,shewasveryunhappy!Shecriedforthefirsttimesincetheyweremarried.Farawayheheardhersobbing;hehearditaccurately,henoticeditdistinctly;hecomparedittoapistonthumping.Buthefeltnothing.

           Hiswifewascrying,andhefeltnothing;onlyeachtimeshesobbedinthisprofound,thissilent,thishopelessway,hedescendedanotherstepintothepit.