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第18章

[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第18章


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reached her office in Russell Square。 Now and then she 
would pause and look into the window of some bookseller 
or flower shop; where; at this early hour; the goods 
were being arranged; and empty gaps behind the plate 
glass revealed a state of undress。 Mary felt kindly disposed 
towards the shopkeepers; and hoped that they would 
trick the midday public into purchasing; for at this hour 
of the morning she ranged herself entirely on the side of 
the shopkeepers and bank clerks; and regarded all who 
slept late and had money to spend as her enemy and 
natural prey。 And directly she had crossed the road at 

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Night and Day 

Holborn; her thoughts all came naturally and regularly to 
roost upon her work; and she forgot that she was; properly 
speaking; an amateur worker; whose services were 
unpaid; and could hardly be said to wind the world up for 
its daily task; since the world; so far; had shown very 
little desire to take the boons which Mary’s society for 
woman’s suffrage had offered it。 

She was thinking all the way up Southampton Row of 
notepaper and foolscap; and how an economy in the use 
of paper might be effected (without; of course; hurting 
Mrs。 Seal’s feelings); for she was certain that the great 
organizers always pounce; to begin with; upon trifles like 
these; and build up their triumphant reforms upon a basis 
of absolute solidity; and; without acknowledging it 
for a moment; Mary Datchet was determined to be a great 
organizer; and had already doomed her society to reconstruction 
of the most radical kind。 Once or twice lately; it 
is true; she had started; broad awake; before turning into 
Russell Square; and denounced herself rather sharply for 
being already in a groove; capable; that is; of thinking 
the same thoughts every morning at the same hour; so 

that the chestnutcolored brick of the Russell Square 
houses had some curious connection with her thoughts 
about office economy; and served also as a sign that she 
should get into trim for meeting Mr。 Clacton; or Mrs。 Seal; 
or whoever might be beforehand with her at the office。 
Having no religious belief; she was the more conscientious 
about her life; examining her position from time to 
time very seriously; and nothing annoyed her more than 
to find one of these bad habits nibbling away unheeded 
at the precious substance。 What was the good; after all; 
of being a woman if one didn’t keep fresh; and cram one’s 
life with all sorts of views and experiments? Thus she 
always gave herself a little shake; as she turned the corner; 
and; as often as not; reached her own door whistling 
a snatch of a Somersetshire ballad。 

The suffrage office was at the top of one of the large 
Russell Square houses; which had once been lived in by a 
great city merchant and his family; and was now let out 
in slices to a number of societies which displayed assorted 
initials upon doors of ground glass; and kept; each 
of them; a typewriter which clicked busily all day long。 

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Virginia Woolf 

The old house; with its great stone staircase; echoed hollowly 
to the sound of typewriters and of errandboys from 
ten to six。 The noise of different typewriters already at 
work; disseminating their views upon the protection of 
native races; or the value of cereals as foodstuffs; quickened 
Mary’s steps; and she always ran up the last flight 
of steps which led to her own landing; at whatever hour 
she came; so as to get her typewriter to take its place in 
petition with the rest。 

She sat herself down to her letters; and very soon all 
these speculations were forgotten; and the two lines drew 
themselves between her eyebrows; as the contents of the 
letters; the office furniture; and the sounds of activity in 
the next room gradually asserted their sway upon her。 By 
eleven o’clock the atmosphere of concentration was running 
so strongly in one direction that any thought of a 
different order could hardly have survived its birth more 
than a moment or so。 The task which lay before her was 
to organize a series of entertainments; the profits of which 
were to benefit the society; which drooped for want of 
funds。 It was her first attempt at organization on a large 

scale; and she meant to achieve something remarkable。 
She meant to use the cumbrous machine to pick out this; 
that; and the other interesting person from the muddle 
of the world; and to set them for a week in a pattern 
which must catch the eyes of Cabi Ministers; and the 
eyes once caught; the old arguments were to be delivered 
with unexampled originality。 Such was the scheme 
as a whole; and in contemplation of it she would bee 
quite flushed and excited; and have to remind herself of 
all the details that intervened between her and success。 

The door would open; and Mr。 Clacton would e in to 
search for a certain leaflet buried beneath a pyramid of 
leaflets。 He was a thin; sandyhaired man of about thirty
five; spoke with a Cockney accent; and had about him a 
frugal look; as if nature had not dealt generously with 
him in any way; which; naturally; prevented him from 
dealing generously with other people。 When he had found 
his leaflet; and offered a few jocular hints upon keeping 
papers in order; the typewriting would stop abruptly; and 
Mrs。 Seal would burst into the room with a letter which 
needed explanation in her hand。 This was a more serious 

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Night and Day 

interruption than the other; because she never knew exactly 
what she wanted; and half a dozen requests would 
bolt from her; no one of which was clearly stated。 Dressed 
in plumcolored velveteen; with short; gray hair; and a 
face that seemed permanently flushed with philanthropic 
enthusiasm; she was always in a hurry; and always in 
some disorder。 She wore two crucifixes; which got themselves 
entangled in a heavy gold chain upon her breast; 
and seemed to Mary expressive of her mental ambiguity。 
Only her vast enthusiasm and her worship of Miss Markham; 
one of the pioneers of the society; kept her in her place; 
for which she had no sound qualification。 

So the morning wore on; and the pile of letters grew; 
and Mary felt; at last; that she was the center ganglion of 
a very fine work of nerves which fell over England; 
and one of these days; when she touched the heart of the 
system; would begin feeling and rushing together and 
emitting their splendid blaze of revolutionary fireworks 
—for some such metaphor represents what she felt about 
her work; when her brain had been heated by three hours 
of application。 

Shortly before one o’clock Mr。 Clacton and Mrs。 Seal 
desisted from their labors; and the old joke about luncheon; 
which came out regularly at this hour; was repeated 
with scarcely any variation of words。 Mr。 Clacton 
patronized a vegetarian restaurant; Mrs。 Seal brought 
sandwiches; which she ate beneath the plarees in 
Russell Square; while Mary generally went to a gaudy establishment; 
upholstered in red plush; near by; where; 
much to the vegetarian’s disapproval; you could buy steak; 
two inches thick; or a roast section of fowl; swimming in 
a pewter dish。 

“The bare branches against the sky do one so much 
good;” Mrs。 Seal asserted; looking out into the Square。 

“But one can’t lunch off trees; Sally;” said Mary。 

“I confess I don’t know how you manage it; Miss 
Datchet;” Mr。 Clacton remarked。 “I should sleep all the 
afternoon; I know; if I took a heavy meal in the middle of 
the day。” 

“What’s the very latest thing in literature?” Mary asked; 
goodhumoredly pointing to the yellowcovered volume 
beneath Mr。 Clacton’s arm; for he invariably read some 

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Virginia Woolf 

new French author at lunchtime; or squeezed in a visit 
to a picture gallery; balancing his social work with an 
ardent culture of which he was secretly proud; as Mary 
had very soon divined。 

So they parted and Mary walked away; wondering if 
they guessed that she really wanted to get away from 
them; and supposing that they had not quite reached 
that degree of subtlety。 She bought herself an evening 
paper; which

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