Місіс Деллоуей

           Itraspedher,though,tohavestirringaboutinherthisbrutalmonster!toheartwigscrackingandfeelhoovesplanteddowninthedepthsofthatleaf-encumberedforest,thesoul;nevertobecontentquite,orquitesecure,foratanymomentthebrutewouldbestirring,thishatred,which,especiallysinceherillness,hadpowertomakeherfeelscraped,hurtinherspine;gaveherphysicalpain,andmadeallpleasureinbeauty,infriendship,inbeingwell,inbeinglovedandmakingherhomedelightfulrock,quiver,andbendasifindeedtherewereamonstergrubbingattheroots,asifthewholepanoplyofcontentwerenothingbutselflove!thishatred!

           Nonsense,nonsense!shecriedtoherself,pushingthroughtheswingdoorsofMulberry’stheflorists.

           Sheadvanced,light,tall,veryupright,tobegreetedatoncebybutton-facedMissPym,whosehandswerealwaysbrightred,asiftheyhadbeenstoodincoldwaterwiththeflowers.

           Therewereflowers:delphiniums,sweetpeas,bunchesoflilac;andcarnations,massesofcarnations.Therewereroses;therewereirises.Ahyes—soshebreathedintheearthygardensweetsmellasshestoodtalkingtoMissPymwhoowedherhelp,andthoughtherkind,forkindshehadbeenyearsago;verykind,butshelookedolder,thisyear,turningherheadfromsidetosideamongtheirisesandrosesandnoddingtuftsoflilacwithhereyeshalfclosed,snuffingin,afterthestreetuproar,thedeliciousscent,theexquisitecoolness.