Місіс Деллоуей

           Wherecouldithavebeen?TheMannings?TheKinloch-Jones’s?Atsomeparty(where,shecouldnotbecertain),forshehadadistinctrecollectionofsayingtothemanshewaswith,“WhoisTHAT?”Andhehadtoldher,andsaidthatSally’sparentsdidnotgeton(howthatshockedher—thatone’sparentsshouldquarrel!).ButallthateveningshecouldnottakehereyesoffSally.Itwasanextraordinarybeautyofthekindshemostadmired,dark,large-eyed,withthatqualitywhich,sinceshehadn’tgotitherself,shealwaysenvied—asortofabandonment,asifshecouldsayanything,doanything;aqualitymuchcommonerinforeignersthaninEnglishwomen.SallyalwayssaidshehadFrenchbloodinherveins,anancestorhadbeenwithMarieAntoinette,hadhisheadcutoff,leftarubyring.PerhapsthatsummershecametostayatBourton,walkinginquiteunexpectedlywithoutapennyinherpocket,onenightafterdinner,andupsettingpoorAuntHelenatosuchanextentthatsheneverforgaveher.Therehadbeensomequarrelathome.Sheliterallyhadn’tapennythatnightwhenshecametothem—hadpawnedabroochtocomedown.Shehadrushedoffinapassion.Theysatuptillallhoursofthenighttalking.Sallyitwaswhomadeherfeel,forthefirsttime,howshelteredthelifeatBourtonwas.Sheknewnothingaboutsex—nothingaboutsocialproblems.Shehadonceseenanoldmanwhohaddroppeddeadinafield—shehadseencowsjustaftertheircalveswereborn.