Місіс Деллоуей

           ThemotorcarwithitsblindsdrawnandanairofinscrutablereserveproceededtowardsPiccadilly,stillgazedat,stillrufflingthefacesonbothsidesofthestreetwiththesamedarkbreathofvenerationwhetherforQueen,Prince,orPrimeMinisternobodyknew.Thefaceitselfhadbeenseenonlyoncebythreepeopleforafewseconds.Eventhesexwasnowindispute.Buttherecouldbenodoubtthatgreatnesswasseatedwithin;greatnesswaspassing,hidden,downBondStreet,removedonlybyahand’s-breadthfromordinarypeoplewhomightnow,forthefirstandlasttime,bewithinspeakingdistanceofthemajestyofEngland,oftheenduringsymbolofthestatewhichwillbeknowntocuriousantiquaries,siftingtheruinsoftime,whenLondonisagrass-grownpathandallthosehurryingalongthepavementthisWednesdaymorningarebutboneswithafewweddingringsmixedupintheirdustandthegoldstoppingsofinnumerabledecayedteeth.Thefaceinthemotorcarwillthenbeknown.

           ItisprobablytheQueen,thoughtMrs.Dalloway,comingoutofMulberry’swithherflowers;theQueen.Andforasecondsheworealookofextremedignitystandingbytheflowershopinthesunlightwhilethecarpassedatafoot’space,withitsblindsdrawn.TheQueengoingtosomehospital;theQueenopeningsomebazaar,thoughtClarissa.

           Thecrushwasterrificforthetimeofday.Lords,Ascot,Hurlingham,whatwasit?shewondered,forthestreetwasblocked.