Місіс Деллоуей

           (Wherewashethismorningforinstance?Somecommittee,sheneveraskedwhat.)ButwithPetereverythinghadtobeshared;everythinggoneinto.Anditwasintolerable,andwhenitcametothatsceneinthelittlegardenbythefountain,shehadtobreakwithhimortheywouldhavebeendestroyed,bothofthemruined,shewasconvinced;thoughshehadborneaboutwithherforyearslikeanarrowstickinginherheartthegrief,theanguish;andthenthehorrorofthemomentwhensomeonetoldherataconcertthathehadmarriedawomanmetontheboatgoingtoIndia!Nevershouldsheforgetallthat!Cold,heartless,aprude,hecalledher.Nevercouldsheunderstandhowhecared.ButthoseIndianwomendidpresumably—silly,pretty,flimsynincompoops.Andshewastedherpity.Forhewasquitehappy,heassuredher—perfectlyhappy,thoughhehadneverdoneathingthattheytalkedof;hiswholelifehadbeenafailure.Itmadeherangrystill.

           ShehadreachedtheParkgates.Shestoodforamoment,lookingattheomnibusesinPiccadilly.

           Shewouldnotsayofanyoneintheworldnowthattheywerethisorwerethat.Shefeltveryyoung;atthesametimeunspeakablyaged.Sheslicedlikeaknifethrougheverything;atthesametimewasoutside,lookingon.Shehadaperpetualsense,asshewatchedthetaxicabs,ofbeingout,out,farouttoseaandalone;shealwayshadthefeelingthatitwasvery,verydangeroustoliveevenoneday.Notthatshethoughtherselfclever,ormuchoutoftheordinary.