Місіс Деллоуей

           WhyshouldSHEsuffer?

           Thechildranstraightbacktoitsnurse,andReziasawherscolded,comforted,takenupbythenursewhoputdownherknitting,andthekind-lookingmangaveherhiswatchtoblowopentocomforther—butwhyshouldSHEbeexposed?WhynotleftinMilan?Whytortured?Why?

           Slightlywavedbytearsthebroadpath,thenurse,themaningrey,theperambulator,roseandfellbeforehereyes.Toberockedbythismalignanttorturerwasherlot.Butwhy?Shewaslikeabirdshelteringunderthethinhollowofaleaf,whoblinksatthesunwhentheleafmoves;startsatthecrackofadrytwig.Shewasexposed;shewassurroundedbytheenormoustrees,vastcloudsofanindifferentworld,exposed;tortured;andwhyshouldshesuffer?Why?

           Shefrowned;shestampedherfoot.ShemustgobackagaintoSeptimussinceitwasalmosttimeforthemtobegoingtoSirWilliamBradshaw.Shemustgobackandtellhim,gobacktohimsittingthereonthegreenchairunderthetree,talkingtohimself,ortothatdeadmanEvans,whomshehadonlyseenonceforamomentintheshop.Hehadseemedanicequietman;agreatfriendofSeptimus’s,andhehadbeenkilledintheWar.Butsuchthingshappentoeveryone.EveryonehasfriendswhowerekilledintheWar.Everyonegivesupsomethingwhentheymarry.Shehadgivenupherhome.Shehadcometolivehere,inthisawfulcity.ButSeptimuslethimselfthinkabouthorriblethings,asshecouldtoo,ifshetried.Hehadgrownstrangerandstranger.