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Updated: June 1, 2025
"And then she caught him by the coat, and would have scratched his eyes out " Mrs. Dalloway put in. "Pooh that's been exaggerated," said Richard. "No, I pity them, I confess. The discomfort of sitting on those steps must be awful." "Serve them right," said Willoughby curtly. "Oh, I'm entirely with you there," said Dalloway.
They had been through France; he had stopped at manufacturing centres where, producing letters of introduction, he had been shown over works, and noted facts in a pocket-book. In Spain he and Mrs. Dalloway had mounted mules, for they wished to understand how the peasants live. Are they ripe for rebellion, for example? Mrs. Dalloway had then insisted upon a day or two at Madrid with the pictures.
Or bought his best work? Why are you all so ugly and so servile? Here the servants are human beings. They talk to one as if they were equals. As far as I can tell there are no aristocrats." Perhaps it was the mention of aristocrats that reminded her of Richard Dalloway and Rachel, for she ran on with the same penful to describe her niece.
Dalloway, who, while her husband spoke, had been thinking.
The question seemed to Clarissa in extraordinarily bad taste. "One of the things that can't be said," she would have put it. She could find no answer, but a laugh. "Well, anyhow," she said, turning to Rachel, "I shall insist upon your playing to me to-morrow." There was that in her manner that made Rachel love her. Mrs. Dalloway hid a tiny yawn, a mere dilation of the nostrils.
A boy and girl." A pang of envy shot through Mrs. Dalloway's heart. "We must have a son, Dick," she said. "Good Lord, what opportunities there are now for young men!" said Dalloway, for his talk had set him thinking. "I don't suppose there's been so good an opening since the days of Pitt." "And it's yours!" said Clarissa. "To be a leader of men," Richard soliloquised. "It's a fine career.
Dalloway carried a despatch box, and his wife a dressing-case suggestive of a diamond necklace and bottles with silver tops. "It's so like Whistler!" she exclaimed, with a wave towards the shore, as she shook Rachel by the hand, and Rachel had only time to look at the grey hills on one side of her before Willoughby introduced Mrs. Chailey, who took the lady to her cabin.
She had now reached one of those eminences, the result of some crisis, from which the world is finally displayed in its true proportions. She disliked the look of it immensely churches, politicians, misfits, and huge impostures men like Mr. Dalloway, men like Mr. Bax, Evelyn and her chatter, Mrs. Paley blocking up the passage.
"I suppose I've been dozing," he said. "What's happened to everyone? Clarissa?" "Mrs. Dalloway has gone to look at Mr. Grice's fish," Rachel replied. "I might have guessed," said Richard. "It's a common occurrence. And how have you improved the shining hour? Have you become a convert?" "I don't think I've read a line," said Rachel. "That's what I always find. There are too many things to look at.
"I find you easy to talk to," said Rachel. The short sketch of the Ambroses was, however, somewhat perfunctory, and contained little but the fact that Mr. Ambrose was her uncle. "Your mother's brother?" When a name has dropped out of use, the lightest touch upon it tells. Mrs. Dalloway went on: "Are you like your mother?" "No; she was different," said Rachel.
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