Місіс Деллоуей

           “Areyougoingtothepartyto-night?”MissKilmansaid.Elizabethsupposedshewasgoing;hermotherwantedhertogo.Shemustnotletpartiesabsorbher,MissKilmansaid,fingeringthelasttwoinchesofachocolateéclair.

           Shedidnotmuchlikeparties,Elizabethsaid.MissKilmanopenedhermouth,slightlyprojectedherchin,andswalloweddownthelastinchesofthechocolateéclair,thenwipedherfingers,andwashedthetearoundinhercup.

           Shewasabouttosplitasunder,shefelt.Theagonywassoterrific.Ifshecouldgraspher,ifshecouldclaspher,ifshecouldmakeherhersabsolutelyandforeverandthendie;thatwasallshewanted.Buttosithere,unabletothinkofanythingtosay;toseeElizabethturningagainsther;tobefeltrepulsiveevenbyher—itwastoomuch;shecouldnotstandit.Thethickfingerscurledinwards.

           “Inevergotoparties,”saidMissKilman,justtokeepElizabethfromgoing.“Peopledon’taskmetoparties”—andsheknewasshesaiditthatitwasthisegotismthatwasherundoing;Mr.Whittakerhadwarnedher;butshecouldnothelpit.Shehadsufferedsohorribly.“Whyshouldtheyaskme?”shesaid.“I’mplain,I’munhappy.”Sheknewitwasidiotic.Butitwasallthosepeoplepassing—peoplewithparcelswhodespisedher,whomadehersayit.However,shewasDorisKilman.Shehadherdegree.Shewasawomanwhohadmadeherwayintheworld.Herknowledgeofmodernhistorywasmorethanrespectable.