Місіс Деллоуей

           Newworshipperscameinfromthestreettoreplacethestrollers,andstill,aspeoplegazedroundandshuffledpastthetomboftheUnknownWarrior,stillshebarredhereyeswithherfingersandtriedinthisdoubledarkness,forthelightintheAbbeywasbodiless,toaspireabovethevanities,thedesires,thecommodities,toridherselfbothofhatredandoflove.Herhandstwitched.Sheseemedtostruggle.YettoothersGodwasaccessibleandthepathtoHimsmooth.Mr.Fletcher,retired,oftheTreasury,Mrs.Gorham,widowofthefamousK.C.,approachedHimsimply,andhavingdonetheirpraying,leantback,enjoyedthemusic(theorganpealedsweetly),andsawMissKilmanattheendoftherow,praying,praying,and,beingstillonthethresholdoftheirunderworld,thoughtofhersympatheticallyasasoulhauntingthesameterritory;asoulcutoutofimmaterialsubstance;notawoman,asoul.

           ButMr.Fletcherhadtogo.Hehadtopassher,andbeinghimselfneatasanewpin,couldnothelpbeingalittledistressedbythepoorlady’sdisorder;herhairdown;herparcelonthefloor.Shedidnotatoncelethimpass.But,ashestoodgazingabouthim,atthewhitemarbles,greywindowpanes,andaccumulatedtreasures(forhewasextremelyproudoftheAbbey),herlargeness,robustness,andpowerasshesatthereshiftingherkneesfromtimetotime(itwassoroughtheapproachtoherGod—sotoughherdesires)impressedhim,astheyhadimpressedMrs.Dalloway(shecouldnotgetthethoughtofheroutofhermindthatafternoon),theRev.