Місіс Деллоуей

           But—but—whydidshesuddenlyfeel,fornoreasonthatshecoulddiscover,desperatelyunhappy?Asapersonwhohasdroppedsomegrainofpearlordiamondintothegrassandpartsthetallbladesverycarefully,thiswayandthat,andsearcheshereandtherevainly,andatlastspiesitthereattheroots,soshewentthroughonethingandanother;no,itwasnotSallySetonsayingthatRichardwouldneverbeintheCabinetbecausehehadasecond-classbrain(itcamebacktoher);no,shedidnotmindthat;norwasittodowithElizabetheitherandDorisKilman;thosewerefacts.Itwasafeeling,someunpleasantfeeling,earlierinthedayperhaps;somethingthatPeterhadsaid,combinedwithsomedepressionofherown,inherbedroom,takingoffherhat;andwhatRichardhadsaidhadaddedtoit,butwhathadhesaid?Therewerehisroses.Herparties!Thatwasit!Herparties!Bothofthemcriticisedherveryunfairly,laughedatherveryunjustly,forherparties.Thatwasit!Thatwasit!

           Well,howwasshegoingtodefendherself?Nowthatsheknewwhatitwas,shefeltperfectlyhappy.Theythought,orPeteratanyratethought,thatsheenjoyedimposingherself;likedtohavefamouspeopleabouther;greatnames;wassimplyasnobinshort.Well,Petermightthinkso.Richardmerelythoughtitfoolishofhertolikeexcitementwhensheknewitwasbadforherheart.Itwaschildish,hethought.Andbothwerequitewrong.Whatshelikedwassimplylife.

           “That’swhatIdoitfor,”shesaid,speakingaloud,tolife.