Місіс Деллоуей

           Paul’sCathedral,andhesitated,forwithinwaswhatbalm,howgreatawelcome,howmanytombswithbannerswavingoverthem,tokensofvictoriesnotoverarmies,butover,hethought,thatplaguyspiritoftruthseekingwhichleavesmeatpresentwithoutasituation,andmorethanthat,thecathedralofferscompany,hethought,invitesyoutomembershipofasociety;greatmenbelongtoit;martyrshavediedforit;whynotenterin,hethought,putthisleatherbagstuffedwithpamphletsbeforeanaltar,across,thesymbolofsomethingwhichhassoaredbeyondseekingandquestingandknockingofwordstogetherandhasbecomeallspirit,disembodied,ghostly—whynotenterin?hethoughtandwhilehehesitatedoutflewtheaeroplaneoverLudgateCircus.

           Itwasstrange;itwasstill.Notasoundwastobeheardabovethetraffic.Unguideditseemed;spedofitsownfreewill.Andnow,curvingupandup,straightup,likesomethingmountinginecstasy,inpuredelight,outfrombehindpouredwhitesmokelooping,writingaT,anO,anF.

           “Whataretheylookingat?”saidClarissaDallowaytothemaidwhoopenedherdoor.

           Thehallofthehousewascoolasavault.Mrs.Dallowayraisedherhandtohereyes,and,asthemaidshutthedoorto,andsheheardtheswishofLucy’sskirts,shefeltlikeanunwhohaslefttheworldandfeelsfoldroundherthefamiliarveilsandtheresponsetoolddevotions.Thecookwhistledinthekitchen.Sheheardtheclickofthetypewriter.