Chapter 9 chapter eight

She said she loves to listen to Bach.Hutton agrees.This is the bond between the two.Hutton (very bad poet) always felt that among all the noble ladies interested in art, Mrs. Dalloway was second to none, and surpassed the others by a large margin.It's strange how strict she is.She is completely objective about music.A serious woman.But how charming it looked!It's a pity that she likes to invite professors after she has furnished her home so beautifully.Clarissa was tempted to draw him over to sit him at the piano in the back room, for he played so well. "Too much noise!" she cried, "too much noise!"

"It's a sign that the banquet went well," Professor Brierley nodded politely, and walked away in a gentle manner. "He knows Milton well," said Clarissa. "Really?" said Hutton; he would copy the professor's tone all over Hampstead: the professor who lectured on Milton, the professor who preached the mean, the professor who walked away gracefully. Now, Clarissa said, she was going to have a word with the couple.She meant Lord Guyton and Nancy Blow. That pair did not add significantly to the noise of the party.They don't talk (obviously), they just stand side by side by the yellow curtain.After a while they were both going to hide somewhere else, but wherever they were, there was never much to talk about.They stare at each other, that's all.enough.They both looked so clean and healthy.She put on makeup and looked extraordinarily beautiful.He has sharp eyes, like a bird, who can peel off the surface and see through the core; like an athlete, he will never miss any ball, and no way of playing will make him panic; Like a rider, he tightens the reins, and the racehorse's mouth trembles.

He had honors of all sorts, and monuments to illustrious ancestors, and the banner of the family hung in the chapel at home.He was on business, in charge of the tenants; his mother was alive and had several sisters; he had been at the Lords Club all day before dinner; — Playing cricket, meeting cousins, going to the movies.Lord Guyton was very fond of Mrs. Dalloway, and Miss Blow had a crush on her.How refined is her manner! "It's a real honor to have you come to the dinner--it's wonderful!" said Mrs. Dalloway.She also likes the Lords Club.She loved youth, especially Nancy, who wore such a beautiful gown, which must have cost a fortune, and had been cut by the first Parisian designers, and looked as if nothing but green ruffles were curled around, natural and ironed, and more It looks slim.

"I was going to have a ball," said Clarissa. Today's young people don't know how to fall in love.But why talk about it?Just yelling, hugging, spinning; they get up early in the morning, feed the horse candy, stroke the nose of the lovely Chinese stud dog, and kiss him;Youth is like that.They will not appreciate the great function of English, and will not use this rich and colorful language, which is really good at enabling people to communicate with each other. (When she and Peter were young, they would argue all evening.) English has all the means to enrich a young man.However, these young people can only socialize with the people in the manor, and socialize well; but when they are alone, it may be dull.

"What a pity!" said Clarissa. "I would have liked to have a ball." In any case, it was very good of them to come to dinner!Speaking of dancing, the rooms were packed. Old Aunt Helena also came in her scarf.Sorry, Clarissa has to leave them both - Lord Guyton and Nancy Blow.She was going to look after old Miss Parry, her aunt. Miss Helena Parry is not dead, she is alive, well past eighty.Leaning on crutches, she slowly climbed upstairs.She was settled in a chair (at Richard's orders).The owner kept bringing people who had been to Burma in the 1970s to see her.where did peter goThe old aunt and he had always been very close friends.As long as India and even Ceylon are mentioned, her eyes (one with glass embedded) will gradually become darker, with faint blue eyes, as if seeing... people from other lands, those governors and generals Ah, the rebels; for them she has no tender nostalgia or proud illusions; now she sees orchids in the east, mountain paths, and herself on the back of a coolie, turning over the lonely Peak (that was in the sixties); down here and there, to pick orchids (amazing flowers, never seen anywhere else), and painted in watercolor; a strong English woman, despite her troubles at times, like the war (a bomb dropped right outside her house) Disrupted her meditations, shattered her vision of orchids, her visions of wandering India in the sixties...Look, here is Peter.

"Come here and talk to Aunt Helena about Burma," said Clarissa. However, at the party, he and she hadn't had a word yet! "We'll talk later," said Clarissa, leading him to Aunt Helena; she was wrapped in a white shawl, and held a cane. "He's Peter Walsh," Clarissa introduced. The old aunt was at a loss and couldn't remember. But she said: Clarissa asked her to come.The noise of the party bored her, but, since Clarissa had invited her, she was compelled to come.They—Clarissa and Richard—lived in London so badly.Even for Clarissa's health it was better to live in the country.But Clarissa liked to be company, and to be lively, as always.

"He's been to Burma," Clarissa reminded her. what!Now she couldn't help thinking of Charles Darwin, who had talked about her pamphlet on Burmese orchids. (This, Clarissa must tell Mrs Bruton.) Now, people must have forgotten this book, which is her description of Burmese orchids, but before 1870, there were three editions! —The old aunt told Peter.Now she remembered him, and recalled that he had been at Bourton (Peter remembered: he was in the drawing-room with this aunt one evening; The aunt ignored it). At the moment, Clarissa went to socialize with Mrs. Bruton: "Richard greatly appreciated the luncheon."

"Richard is a wonderful assistant," said Mrs. Bruton. "He is writing my letters. How are you?" "Oh, that's great!" replied Clarissa. (Mrs. Bruton hates sick politicians' wives.) "Here, here comes Peter Walsh!" said Mrs. Bruton, (she and Clarissa had nothing to talk about, though she liked her very much. Clarissa had many good qualities, but nothing like herself Nothing in common. It would have been better if Richard had married a less attractive wife, because a more ordinary woman would be more helpful to him in his job. Now, he has lost his chance to be a cabinet minister. ) "Isn't that Peter Walsh!" she exclaimed, and shook hands with the agreeable prodigal son; he had talent, and would have made a name, but he didn't (always had trouble with women); oh, Old Miss Parry was there too.Wonderful old lady!

Mrs Bruton stood by Miss Parry's chair; the old lady, like a resolute ghost in black, invited Peter Walsh to lunch; she was kind, but had no chatter, no memory of India .It is true that she had been there, and had been on the acquaintance of the three Governors, and thought some of the common people of India very well; but how miserable--the state of India!The Prime Minister had just talked to her (old Miss Parry, huddled in a scarf, she didn't care what the Prime Minister was saying); and Mrs Bruton wanted Peter Walsh's advice, as he had just She was trying to get Sir Simpson to meet him; these social engagements kept her awake; and being the daughter of a military attache was stupid and unbearable.Now she is old and useless.However, she had a mansion, a lot of servants, and a good friend, Millie Brecht—remember her? —all of which are at her disposal—as long as she can.Lady Bruton never speaks of England, yet this nourishing island, dear, dear land, is in her flesh and blood (though never read Shakespeare); , ruled barbarians with indomitable and impartial spirit, rested at last in a corner of a church, covered with a pointless shield, or in a green tomb on a primitive remote hillside, that must be Millicent Brown. Luton.Though she was a woman and somewhat mentally handicapped (she couldn't write to The Times), she was always haunted by the British Empire, and, being inspired by the Goddess of Arms, was tall and rugged, so that one could not Imagine that she will leave her homeland after death, and she will not leave the distant territory under the jurisdiction of the empire, although spiritually speaking, the Union Jack is no longer flying there.Anyway, even if she died, if she wasn't English--no, no, it couldn't be done!

At this moment, Mrs. Rosset (formerly Sally Seton) was thinking: Is that Mrs. Bruton?The gentleman with graying hair was probably Peter Walsh (knew him well in the past).This must be old Miss Parry—that is, the old aunt; I think the old aunt used to get annoyed with her when I was a guest at Bourton.She could never forget that she was running naked down the aisle, and Miss Parry had her summoned and scolded!Ho, Clarissa!Ah, Clarissa!Sally hugged her tightly. Clarissa stopped beside them. "But I can't stay here," she said, "Come back later, wait," she said, looking at Peter and Sally; implying that they must wait until all the guests had gone.

"I'll come back later," she said, looking at the two old friends, Sally and Peter; they were shaking hands, and Sally was laughing, obviously remembering the past. However, her voice is not as round and charming as before, and her eyes are not as bright as they used to be; when she smoked a cigar, or ran naked down the aisle to get a sponge bag. Time, how bright eyes!At that time, Ellen Atkins asked: what if she met a gentleman?Everyone forgives her, though.When she was hungry at night, she stole chicken from the pantry; she smoked cigars in her bedroom; and once dropped a very precious book in a gondola.Still, everyone adores her (except perhaps her father).It was because of her enthusiasm, her energy—she could both paint and write.Some old women in the village remember her to this day and greet Clarissa as "her friend in the red cloak, that very clever girl".Sally was nice to everyone but blamed Hugh Whitbread (her old friend was talking to the Portuguese ambassador at the moment) for daring him in the smoking room when she said women should have the right to vote. Kiss her, and say it's punishment for her nonsense.At the time, she said, only vulgar men behaved like this.Clarissa remembered having to advise her not to belittle him at family prayer; for she was likely to do it, so unscrupulous, fond of slapstick, joking, and bent on being the center of attention. center; Clarissa always thought that her rampage must have a terrible and tragic end--death, or martyrdom; but she married a bald man: well-dressed, with large buttonholes in his coat; Owner of a textile mill in Manchester.Moreover, she gave birth to five dolls! She was sitting with Peter, reminiscing about old times, so naturally and kindly.They'll talk about old friendships.Clarissa had been intimate with both of them in the past (much closer than Richard): the garden at home, the trees, old Joseph Breikopf singing Brahms in his broken voice, the drawing-room The wallpaper and the smell of the straw mats all bring back the common memories of the past.Sally was forever inseparable from it all, and Peter was a part of it all.However, she had to leave them both.To socialize with the Bradshaws, even though she didn't like them. She must go to Mrs. Bradshaw and play around (the lady, in silver and gray, like a sea lion, swayed by the pool, trying to balance, growling; as she longed for an invitation to meet the Duchess; really wife of a very successful man); Clarissa must go and greet her...   Mrs. Bradshaw had expected her to come to greet her. "My dear Mrs. Dalloway, we are too late to come in," said Mrs. Bradshaw. Sir William Bradshaw was very handsome, with gray hair and blue eyes; it was true, he said, that he was coming too late, but the party was too attractive to come.Afterwards he had a talk with Richard, probably about a bill they were trying to get through the House of Commons.Clarissa thought to herself: Why did the way he talk to Richard strike her with awe?He was a veritable great physician, at the very top of his profession, and a very strong man, despite his aging appearance.Think of the kinds of cases he had to deal with--people in the depths of misery, people almost insane, entanglements between husband and wife, and so on.He must face very difficult problems and act decisively.Still, what she really felt was that people didn't want Sir William to see their own suffering.No, not for that person to see. "How is your son at Eton?" she asked Mrs. Bradshaw. Mrs. Bradshaw replied: He's out of football for a while, he's got mumps; his father is more worried than he is, and he's a big boy anyway. Clarissa glanced at Sir William, who was still talking to Richard; he didn't look like a big boy--not at all. Once before, she went with someone to ask him to see a doctor.As a doctor, he was flawless and extremely reasonable.But my God! ——After coming out, I went to the street and breathed a sigh of relief!She still remembers it vividly: there was a very poor patient in the waiting room, weeping uncontrollably.However, she could not understand what Sir William's fault was, what it was that disgusted her.Richard, however, felt the same way: "His taste, his smell, is unbearable." After all, his talents are rare.Right now, he was discussing the bill with Richard.Sir William dropped his voice to a case.This has a lot to do with what he called the sequelae of shell shock.There must be corresponding clauses in the motion. At this point, out of common feminine feelings, both proud of their respective illustrious husbands, and worried about their overwork, Mrs Bradshaw (poor thing - not annoying) was eager to say something to Mrs Dalloway In her own words, she murmured, "We were about to come up here when my husband was called: a terrible case. A young man had committed suicide (Sir William and Mr. Dalloway had also confided about the dead). He was a soldier." Yo!Clarissa thought: Death has come in, right in the middle of my party. She went forward and into the small room where the Prime Minister and Mrs Bruton had been going just now.Maybe someone is still in there at the moment.In fact, there is no trace.However, the figures of the Prime Minister and Mrs. Bruton still appeared on the two chairs: she listened respectfully sideways, and he sat majestically, with a dignified appearance.The two were talking about the situation in India.But now there is no one left.Clarissa thought: The feast of splendor has failed miserably; it is strange that she should go into the small room alone in her rich gown. Why were the Bradshaws talking about death at her party?What do they do? !A young man committed suicide.And they were talking about it at her party—the Bradshaws were talking about death.The lad committed suicide—but how?When she heard about an accident for the first time, she always felt as if she was in the same place; for example, when someone talked about a fire, she felt that her clothes were on fire and her body was burning.This time, it is said that the young man committed suicide by jumping off the building: when he fell to the ground suddenly, he felt the ground fly up and hit him, and the densely covered rusty spikes on the wall pierced him, leaving him covered in cuts and bruises.He was lying on the ground, with a heavy voice in his head: bang, bang, bang... he finally suffocated in the darkness.This is the scene she imagined, but it is vivid in her mind.Why on earth did he commit suicide?And the Bradshaws dared to talk about it at her party! Once before, she had thrown a shilling carelessly into the Snake River, and that was all, and nothing else.The young man threw his life away.People went on living (she had to go back to the drawing room, which was still full of guests and new ones were coming).They (she kept thinking of Bourton and Peter and Sally back home), they were going to be old people.In any case, life had a vital center, and in hers it was worn down and obliterated by idle chatter, wasted every day in corruption, lies, and gossip.The youth kept the center of his life.Death is a challenge.Death tries to convey information, but people find it difficult to approach the mysterious center, which is elusive; intimacy becomes alienation, carnival fades, and people are lonely.Death can embrace man. The young man killed himself—did he leap with a precious heart? "If you die now, you will be the happiest," she once said to herself, as she descended the stairs in white. Perhaps poets and thinkers have thought the same way.If the young man, with death-defying passion, went to see Sir William Bradshaw, the great Physician, who seemed to her the incarnation of hidden evil, devoid of passions, and perfectly courteous to women, And do inexplicable, outrageous things--soul-killing, that's it--would the young man go to see Sir William, and he, with his peculiar power, persecute the mind of a sick man by suggestion? Said (she thought he would say it at the moment): Can't live, people make him can't live, people like that doctor; would he say that? In addition (she felt it only this morning), there was the horror of life: her parents had given her life, and she had to live it peacefully through the years, but she couldn't do it, she couldn't; she was filled with terrible fears.Even now she often felt herself to be ruined, and luckily Richard was at home now and then, reading The Times, and she could curl up like a bird and gradually regain her strength, with endless waves of joy in her heart. , exulting, one with all things.She fled.And the young man killed himself. It was, in a sense, her catastrophe—her shame, her punishment—to see a man here, a woman there, sink in succession, disappearing into the black abyss, and she had to put on her evening gown. , standing, circling the banquet.She has played tricks and stolen small things.She was never such a respectable and lovely person.She was determined to be successful, so she courted Mrs. Bexborough, etc.However, once in the old days, she had walked quietly alone on Bourton's terrace. Strange, incredible, she had never been as happy as she was back then.Nothing is too slow then, because nothing lasts forever.She thought to herself: in the old days, at Bourton, when she was arranging the chairs and arranging the books on the shelf, she felt such great pleasure, full of youthful joy, intoxicated by the flow of life, from the sunrise to the evening, all the same. Feel the pulsation of life with great joy.Back then, in the days of Bourton, many times, when others were talking, she looked up at the sky alone; When she was sleepless in the middle of the night, she went to look at the sky.Now, in the small room, she went to the window again. She felt that the country sky, the sky over Westminster, was part of her life, silly though it was.At the moment, she opened the curtains and looked out.Hey, how strange! ——In the opposite room, the old lady was staring at her!She was going to bed.As for the sky, it looks like it will be fortified.The sky would darken, Clarissa thought, and hide the pretty faces.See, it's not--it's pale, and the clouds are racing through the air, shrinking.It must be windy.In the opposite room, the old woman was about to go to bed.Clarissa watched with great interest as she paced up and down, the old lady, across the room, to the window.can she see meIt was fascinating to watch the old woman go to bed very peacefully and alone, while yonder, in the drawing room, the guests were still laughing and cheering.In a moment, she drew down the blinds.The bell rang.The young man committed suicide, and she didn't pity him; Big Ben struck the time: one, two, three, and she didn't pity him, because the bell and the human voice resounded through the space.look!The old lady turned off the lights!The whole room was pitch black, and the sound waves kept flowing, she repeated to herself, and blurted out: Don't be afraid of the hot sun anymore.She had to go back among the guests.What a wonderful night!Somehow, she felt that she resembled him—the young man who committed suicide.He did it, and she was glad; he threw away his life, and they lived on.The bell was still ringing, and the stagnant sound waves disappeared into the air.She has to go back.Must cheer up.Sally and Peter must be found.So she walked from the small room into the living room. "Where's Clarissa?" Peter asked.Now, he and Sally were sitting on the sofa talking. (He had known her for so many years that he couldn't call her "Mrs. Rosset".) "Where did this woman go?" he asked repeatedly, "Where is Clarissa?" Sally guessed, and Peter thought the same way: Maybe some important people, politicians, etc. came, and Clarissa had to go out to socialize, and they had to exchange a few words; and they were not familiar with this generation of important people, unless they were in newspapers with pictures. I have seen Zunrong on the Internet.Clarissa was probably with that number.However, Richard Dalloway was not in cabinet, not a minister.Sully speculated that he probably didn't make it to the top.As for herself, she seldom reads a newspaper.Only occasionally did I see Richard's name in the newspapers.But—well—Clarissa would say that she lived in the wilderness and was ignorant, surrounded by big businessmen who had done something after all.She also did a lot of things! "I have five sons!" Sally told Peter. God, God, how much she has become!The wild girl turned into a gentle mother, proud of her son.Peter recalled that the last time he met her was in the moonlit cauliflower bushes; at that time, she said that the leaves were like "rough bronze", and she liked a little literary accent; that night, she still Picked a rose.But it was a bad night when she made him go round and round after the romantic trick at the fountain; he still had to catch a midnight train.God, he cried! Now, Sally was thinking: It was his old thing, playing with the pocket knife he always carried with him, the knife he always used when he got excited.When Peter fell in love with Clarissa, he knew himself very well, very well; and that memorable lunch, with the horrific and ridiculous quarrel over Richard Dalloway.At the time, she called Richard "Wickham," why not? !Clarissa is furious!The two never saw each other again; in fact, she and Clarissa hadn't seen each other more than five or six times in the past ten years.Peter Walsh had gone to India; she had vaguely heard that he had married there unhappily; whether he had any children, and could not ask him, for he had changed.She looked a little shriveled, but kinder than ever; she had a genuine affection for him because he was bound to her youth; she still had the Emily Bronte novel he gave her in her stash , is a small book; probably he wants to write?Back then, he was going to write. "Have you written it?" She asked him, spreading out her hand, that firm and beautiful hand resting on her knee, he remembered that this was her usual gesture. "Not a single word!" replied Peter Walsh, who laughed. She's still charming, still a character - Sally Seton.But what about Rosette?Peter was not familiar with it, only that he wore two camellias on his dress on the day he became the groom.Clarissa wrote to him about "thousands of servants in their house, endless greenhouses;" and so on.After learning about it, Sally laughed loudly and admitted that it was almost the same. "Yes, I have ten thousand pounds a year," said she, before or after income tax, she could not remember, for it was all done by her husband; and she said, "You Do meet him, you'll like him." In the past, Sally had always been poor.In order to go to Bourton she had pawned one of her great-grandfather's rings, a gift from Marie Antoinette--perhaps he remembered correctly? Well, yes, Sally remembered; but she redeemed the ring, and she still has it, set in a ruby, which Marie Antoinette really gave to her great-grandfather.At that time, she had no money, and a trip to Bourton was always trying to make up things.However, going to Bourton would be of great advantage to her--it would make her sane and sane, which would be a real worry at home.All of that, though, was a thing of the past — gone.She added that Mr. Parry was dead and Miss Parry was alive.Peter said that he had never heard such amazing news in his life!He thought she was indeed dead.Sally then asked, was the marriage a happy one?Oh, there, by the curtains, a very pretty, very calm girl in a light red dress, it must be Elizabeth. (Willie Titcombe thought now, The girl is like a poplar, a stream, a hyacinth. And she thought: The country is so much better than the city, free to do what she wants! She could hear the poor dog barking again while she was fascinated, yes.) Peter Walsh said she was nothing like Clarissa. "Ah, Clarissa!" Sally echoed. Sally only felt that he owed Clarissa a huge debt.You know, they are friends, not casual acquaintances, but close friends.At this moment, she thought of the past, vividly, Clarissa in white clothes, walking around Bourton Manor, holding flowers in her hands-to this day, the smell of tobacco still reminds Sally of Bourton.But—does Peter understand? — Clarissa has some flaws after all.What exactly are the disadvantages?She has charm, extraordinary charisma.But, frankly (at the moment Sully feels that Peter is an old friend, a real friend—what does it matter that he has been abroad?! What does it matter that he is separated from her?! She often wanted to write to him then, and wrote Just tear it up, but I feel in my heart that he will understand, because people will understand without explaining, as if people feel old without explaining, and she is really old, has several sons, and went to school that afternoon. Eaton went to see the little ones, they had mumps), and, frankly, how did Clarissa do such a thing—marry Richard Dalloway?A sports guy who only cares about the dogs.It was true that he always stinks of stables whenever he came into the room.And this set of banquets, wait, what's the point? !she said, waving her hands. Isn't that Hugh Whitbread?He walked over leisurely, wearing a white vest, chubby, looking a little dazed, as if turning a blind eye, ignoring everything except self-esteem and comfort. "He won't recognize us," said Sally, who couldn't muster the courage to... Oh, that's Hugh!Admirable Hugh! "What is he doing now?" she asked Peter. Peter said he polished the king's boots and counted bottles at Windsor Palace.Peter's mouth is still sharp!He also said, you have to tell the truth.It was that kiss, Hugh's kiss. She assured him it was just a touch on the lips, and it happened one night, in the smoking room.At that time, she was so angry that she went straight to Clarissa to complain.Clarissa said, Hugh can't be so nasty!Admirable Hugh!The socks Hugh wore were very beautiful. She had never seen such beautiful socks... In front of him, he was wearing an evening dress, which was absolutely flawless!Does he have kids? "Everyone here has six sons at Eton," Peter told her, except himself.Thank God he didn't have a son.No son, no daughter, no wife.Sally said, Well, it seems you don't care.He looked younger than anyone else, she thought. Peter went on to say that in many respects Clarissa's marriage was stupid, "she's a complete fool;" but he added, "I had a good time with her." what happened?Sally Nahan, what on earth does he mean?It's strange, knowing him, but not knowing anything about what he went through.Did he say that out of pride?Possibly, because, after all, the marriage had been embarrassing for him after all (though he was a queer, rather eccentric, and by no means ordinary); and now, at his age, without a home or a place to belong, he must feel very lonely.So she said, you must come to our house and live in it for a few months.Of course he would come, he said, and he enjoyed being with them.Later, he did go.But for so many years, the Dalloways have never been there once.Sally and her husband invited them over and over again.Clarissa (in her own right, of course) refused to come.Sally said that Clarissa was a snob at heart—one has to admit it, she was a snob.It was this, Sally believed, that separated them.Clarissa thought it would be dishonorable for Sally to marry that man, who was only the son of a miner.Sally was proud: all her family's money, every penny, had been earned by his blood and sweat; when he was a child (her voice trembled), he had carried a big sack! (Peter thinks she'll babble for hours on end: the miner's son, and she's supposed to be disrespectful to marry that man, and she's got five sons, and what—oh, The flowers—the hydrangea, the lilac, the hibiscus lily, are rare treasures that never grow north of the Suez, and she, in the suburbs of Manchester, employs but one gardener, and has many flower-beds of precious Lilies, countless! All these, Clarissa avoided, she was not a good wife and mother.) She's a snob?Really, snobby in many ways.Where is she now, why can't I see her?It's getting late. "Well," said Sally, "I heard that Clarissa was giving a party, and I felt compelled to come—to see her again (I live on Victoria Street, right next door). So, I'll I came here uninvited." Then she lowered her voice and whispered: "Here, tell me, you must tell me, who is that?" It was Mrs. Hillbury, looking for the door.It's too late!She murmured to herself: the night is quiet, when the guests leave one by one, old friends can be found, and there are quiet corners with incomparably wonderful scenery.She said that the masters lived in a fairyland-like paradise, did they know it?The lights are shining, the flowers and trees are sparse, the wonderful lake is shining, and the sky is blue.Clarissa said: It's just that there are a few lanterns in the back garden.Mrs. Hillbury said: You are such a magician!Turning your house into a park... She doesn't know the names of some of the guests, but she knows they are friends; friends without names, songs without words, that's the best.However, there were so many doors and unexpected corners that she couldn't find the exit. "That's old Mrs. Hillbury," Peter said to Sally.Who is that over there?Who was that lady who stood by the drapery all through the dinner, silent?Peter felt a little familiar, as if he had something to do with Bourton.Ah, isn't she the woman who used to cut underwear at the big table at the window of the manor house?Maybe the name is Davidson? "Well, that must be Ellie Henderson," said Sully.Clarissa was really hard on her.They are cousins, poor though they are.Clarissa was too harsh. She was indeed quite harsh, said Peter.said Sally, after all, how generous she was to her friends!萨利说这句话时，像往常一样感情激动，热情洋溢；以前彼得喜爱她这性子，眼下可有些惧怕，惟恐她过于奔放。萨利又说：慷慨是一种罕有的品质；有时她在晚上或在圣诞节，盘算自己有多少幸福时，总是把克拉丽莎的友谊放在首位。那时，她俩都很年轻，这是关键。克拉丽莎心地纯洁，这是要点。彼得却认为，她多愁善感。就算这样吧。这些年来，萨利逐渐感到，惟有内心的感觉，才值得谈。至于聪明嘛，反为聪明误。一个人必须说出内心的感觉。 “可是，”彼得·沃尔什道，“我弄不清自己有什么感受。” 萨利想，彼得多可怜。克拉丽莎怎么还不来跟他们谈谈？他渴望着跟她谈哩。萨利猜透他的心思，知道他一心只想念克拉丽莎，因而老是拨弄小刀。 彼得接着说，在他看来，生活并不简单。他和克拉丽莎的关系并不简单，它糟蹋了他的生活。 （又说，他与萨利一直亲密得很，讳言是荒谬的。）还说，一个人不能接连爱两次呀。对此，萨利有什么可说的？ !然而，曾经爱过，总比没爱过好（他又要认为她多愁善感了，那张嘴向来是尖刻的）。萨利道，你一定要来曼彻斯特，同我们待几个月。他说，一定来，无论如何，非来不可。他很喜欢和他们过一段日子，等他在伦敦办好必要的事务，马上动身。 萨利肯定认为，克拉丽莎对他比对理查德关心得多。 “不，不，不对！”彼得连忙否认（萨利不该那么说的——讲得太过分了）。那个好心肠的主人，瞧他待在房间的尽头，一如既往，仍然是亲爱的老朋友理查德。他在跟谁交谈，萨利问道，那个仪表非凡的客人是谁？她一向在偏僻的地方生活，因而怀着不知餍足的好奇心，要认识陌生人，弄清他们是何等样人。但是，彼得并不认识那客人。他说，敢情是个大臣吧，可他不喜欢那家伙的模样。他又说，在那批人中间，他认为理查德最好——最无私心。 “可他干了些什么？”萨利问道。也许是有关公益的事情吧。又问：他和克拉丽莎在一起幸福吗（她自己幸福到极点）；她承认，自己对他俩婚后的生活一无所知，只是像人们惯常的做法，匆匆得出结论而已；其实，即便对日常生活在一块儿的人，到底了解多少呢？我们不是都像囚犯吗？ !她曾读过一个极妙的剧本，主人公老是在斗室的墙上抓来搔去；她觉得，生活正是如此——人们都在墙上抓来搔去。她对人与人之间的关系绝望了（人是那么难弄），便时常到自家的花园里，观赏鲜花，内心就宁静了，这是同男子或女子交往时，从未有过的心境。彼得却道，他不同意，他可不喜爱卷心菜什么的，他宁愿同人交往。萨利道，这话也对，年轻人真美，这时她凝望着伊丽莎白穿过室内。克拉丽莎在她那年纪大不一样呵！彼得能看透那姑娘吗？她守口如瓶呢。彼得承认，看不大透，现在还看不透。萨利道，她像一朵百合花，池边的百合花。不管怎样，彼得不同意萨利的看法：我们什么都不了解。不，我们了解一切，至少他对一切了如指掌。 那么，萨利低声道，正在走过来的一对（她心想，我得去了，要是克拉丽莎不马上来的话），关于那一对，仪表非凡的男人与相貌平常的妻子，他俩一直在跟理查德交谈——关于这类人，你能了解多少？ “这种人是该死的骗子，”彼得答道，一面随便地瞟了一眼。这句话逗得萨利笑了。 这当儿，威廉·布雷德肖爵士在门口停住，审视一幅版画。他仔细瞧画的角上，要看清版画家的名字。他的夫人也在鉴赏。威廉·布雷德肖爵士对艺术的兴味浓极了。 彼得说，一个人年轻时太容易激动，所以不能看透人们。如今老了，确切地讲，我五十二岁了（萨利道，她五十五啦，不过，这是表面上的年龄，她的心还像一个二十岁的姑娘哩），比较成熟了，便能观察人，了解人，同时并不失去感情的力量。萨利道，不错，确实这样，一年又一年地老起来，感情却愈来愈深，愈来愈热烈。彼得道，也许如此，感情越来越强烈，这是可悲的，不管怎样，应当为此而高兴——根据他的经验，感情是越老越强烈的。他在印度的时候，结识了一个女人。他很想对萨利谈谈她。他希望萨利认识她。又说，她结过婚了，有两个孩子。萨利道，你务必请她带孩子到曼彻斯特来——咱们分手之前，你一定要答应这个要求。 “瞧，伊丽莎白在那儿，”彼得说，“她的感情还不及咱们的一半呢，至少现在如此。”萨利注视着伊丽莎白走向她父亲，一面说，“不完全这样，看得出她对父亲的感情相当深哩。”她是从伊丽莎白走向她父亲的步态中，感到这一点的。 那姑娘的父亲老是在瞅她，一面同布雷德肖夫妇俩谈话，心想，那可爱的姑娘是谁？忽然悟到，是他的伊丽莎白嘛，自己却没有认出来；她穿着浅红色上衣，看上去多可爱！伊丽莎白和威利·蒂特库姆聊天时，感觉到父亲在瞅她。于是她走到他跟前，父女俩并肩而立；此刻宴会将近尾声了，瞧着宾客们离去，室内愈来愈空荡荡的，地板上杂物狼藉。甚至埃利·亨德森也要走了，几乎是最后一个，尽管没有人和她谈过一句话，她却要亲眼看看这一切，回去讲给伊迪丝听。宴会快结束了，理查德与伊丽莎白觉得高兴，父亲为女儿感到得意。他不想告诉女儿刚才没认出她，但不由自主地讲了。他说，刚才我瞅着你，心里纳罕：那可爱的姑娘是谁？原来是自己的女儿！她听了很快活。不过，她那可怜的狗在嚎叫呢。 当下，萨利对彼得说，“理查德比过去好了。你说得对。我这就去跟他谈一下，向他告辞。”罗塞特夫人站起来，一边说：“同心灵相比，脑子有什么用？！” “我会来的，”彼得道，却仍然坐着，待了一会。他思忖：这一切——怎样的恐惧？ !怎样的狂喜？ !究竟是什么使我异常激动？ 乃是克拉丽莎，他自言自语。 她就在眼前。