Місіс Деллоуей
“Somethingveryimportanthashappened,”hescribbledattheendofit.
Thefountainwasinthemiddleofalittleshrubbery,farfromthehouse,withshrubsandtreesallroundit.Thereshecame,evenbeforethetime,andtheystoodwiththefountainbetweenthem,thespout(itwasbroken)dribblingwaterincessantly.Howsightsfixthemselvesuponthemind!Forexample,thevividgreenmoss.
Shedidnotmove.“Tellmethetruth,tellmethetruth,”hekeptonsaying.Hefeltasifhisforeheadwouldburst.Sheseemedcontracted,petrified.Shedidnotmove.“Tellmethetruth,”herepeated,whensuddenlythatoldmanBreitkopfpoppedhisheadincarryingtheTimes;staredatthem;gaped;andwentaway.Theyneitherofthemmoved.“Tellmethetruth,”herepeated.Hefeltthathewasgrindingagainstsomethingphysicallyhard;shewasunyielding.Shewaslikeiron,likeflint,rigidupthebackbone.Andwhenshesaid,“It’snouse.It’snouse.Thisistheend”—afterhehadspokenforhours,itseemed,withthetearsrunningdownhischeeks—itwasasifshehadhithimintheface.Sheturned,shelefthim,wentaway.
“Clarissa!”hecried.“Clarissa!”Butshenevercameback.Itwasover.Hewentawaythatnight.Heneversawheragain.
Itwasawful,hecried,awful,awful!
Still,thesunwashot.Still,onegotoverthings.Still,lifehadawayofaddingdaytoday.
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