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.