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第64章

[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第64章


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taking his place at the table and turning to Mary 
as usual when about to deliver his more profound cogitations; 
“is that they are not based upon sufficiently intellectual 
grounds。 A mistake; in my opinion。 The British public 
likes a pellet of reason in its jam of eloquence—a pill of 
reason in its pudding of sentiment;” he said; sharpening 
the phrase to a satisfactory degree of literary precision。 

His eyes rested; with something of the vanity of an 
author; upon the yellow leaflet which Mary held in her 
hand。 She rose; took her seat at the head of the table; 
poured out tea for her colleagues; and gave her opinion 
upon the leaflet。 So she had poured out tea; so she had 
criticized Mr。 Clacton’s leaflets a hundred times already; 

but now it seemed to her that she was doing it in a 
different spirit; she had enlisted in the army; and was a 
volunteer no longer。 She had renounced something and 
was now—how could she express it?;—not quite “in the 
running” for life。 She had always known that Mr。 Clacton 
and Mrs。 Seal were not in the running; and across the 
gulf that separated them she had seen them in the guise 
of shadow people; flitting in and out of the ranks of the 
living—eccentrics; undeveloped human beings; from 
whose substance some essential part had been cut away。 
All this had never struck her so clearly as it did this afternoon; 
when she felt that her lot was cast with them for 
ever。 One view of the world plunged in darkness; so a 
more volatile temperament might have argued after a 
season of despair; let the world turn again and show another; 
more splendid; perhaps。 No; Mary thought; with 
unflinching loyalty to what appeared to her to be the 
true view; having lost what is best; I do not mean to 
pretend that any other view does instead。 Whatever happens; 
I mean to have no presences in my life。 Her very 
words had a sort of distinctness which is sometimes pro


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Virginia Woolf 

duced by sharp; bodily pain。 To Mrs。 Seal’s secret jubilation 
the rule which forbade discussion of shop at teatime 
was overlooked。 Mary and Mr。 Clacton argued with a 
cogency and a ferocity which made the little woman feel 
that something very important—she hardly knew what— 
was taking place。 She became much excited; one crucifix 
became entangled with another; and she dug a considerable 
hole in the table with the point of her pencil in 
order to emphasize the most striking heads of the discourse; 
and how any bination of Cabi Ministers 
could resist such discourse she really did not know。 

She could hardly bring herself to remember her own 
private instrument of justice—the typewriter。 The telephone
bell rang; and as she hurried off to answer a voice 
which always seemed a proof of importance by itself; she 
felt that it was at this exact spot on the surface of the 
globe that all the subterranean wires of thought and 
progress came together。 When she returned; with a message 
from the printer; she found that Mary was putting 
on her hat firmly; there was something imperious and 
dominating in her attitude altogether。 

“Look; Sally;” she said; “these letters want copying。 
These I’ve not looked at。 The question of the new census 
will have to be gone into carefully。 But I’m going home 
now。 Good night; Mr。 Clacton; good night; Sally。” 

“We are very fortunate in our secretary; Mr。 Clacton;” 
said Mrs。 Seal; pausing with her hand on the papers; as 
the door shut behind Mary。 Mr。 Clacton himself had been 
vaguely impressed by something in Mary’s behavior towards 
him。 He envisaged a time even when it would bee 
necessary to tell her that there could not be two 
masters in one office—but she was certainly able; very 
able; and in touch with a group of very clever young 
men。 No doubt they had suggested to her some of her 
new ideas。 

He signified his assent to Mrs。 Seal’s remark; but observed; 
with a glance at the clock; which showed only 
half an hour past five: 

“If she takes the work seriously; Mrs。 Seal—but that’s 
just what some of your clever young ladies don’t do。” So 
saying he returned to his room; and Mrs。 Seal; after a 
moment’s hesitation; hurried back to her labors。 

229 



Night and Day 

CHAPTER XXI 


Mary walked to the nearest station and reached home in 
an incredibly short space of time; just so much; indeed; 
as was needed for the intelligent understanding of the 
news of the world as the “Westminster Gazette” reported 
it。 Within a few minutes of opening her door; she was in 
trim for a hard evening’s work。 She unlocked a drawer 
and took out a manuscript; which consisted of a very few 
pages; entitled; in a forcible hand; “Some Aspects of the 
Democratic State。” The aspects dwindled out in a cries
cross of blotted lines in the very middle of a sentence; 
and suggested that the author had been interrupted; or 
convinced of the futility of proceeding; with her pen in 
the air… 。 Oh; yes; Ralph had e in at that point。 She 
scored that sheet very effectively; and; choosing a fresh 
one; began at a great rate with a generalization upon the 
structure of human society; which was a good deal bolder 
than her custom。 Ralph had told her once that she couldn’t 
write English; which accounted for those frequent blots 
and insertions; but she put all that behind her; and drove 

ahead with such words as came her way; until she had 
acplished half a page of generalization and might 
legitimately draw breath。 Directly her hand stopped her 
brain stopped too; and she began to listen。 A paperboy 
shouted down the street; an omnibus ceased and lurched 
on again with the heave of duty once more shouldered; 
the dullness of the sounds suggested that a fog had risen 
since her return; if; indeed; a fog has power to deaden 
sound; of which fact; she could not be sure at the present 
moment。 It was the sort of fact Ralph Denham knew。 At 
any rate; it was no concern of hers; and she was about to 
dip a pen when her ear was caught by the sound of a step 
upon the stone staircase。 She followed it past Mr。 Chippen’s 
chambers; past Mr。 Gibson’s; past Mr。 Turner’s; after which 
it became her sound。 A postman; a washerwoman; a circular; 
a bill—she presented herself with each of these 
perfectly natural possibilities; but; to her surprise; her 
mind rejected each one of them impatiently; even apprehensively。 
The step became slow; as it was apt to do at 
the end of the steep climb; and Mary; listening for the 
regular sound; was filled with an intolerable nervous


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Virginia Woolf 

ness。 Leaning against the table; she felt the knock of her 
heart push her body perceptibly backwards and forwards— 
a state of nerves astonishing and reprehensible in a stable 
woman。 Grotesque fancies took shape。 Alone; at the top 
of the house; an unknown person approaching nearer and 
nearer—how could she escape? There was no way of escape。 
She did not even know whether that oblong mark 
on the ceiling was a trapdoor to the roof or not。 And if 
she got on to the roof—well; there was a drop of sixty 
feet or so on to the pavement。 But she sat perfectly still; 
and when the knock sounded; she got up directly and 
opened the door without hesitation。 She saw a tall figure 
outside; with something ominous to her eyes in the look 
of it。 

“What do you want?” she said; not recognizing the face 
in the fitful light of the staircase。 

“Mary? I’m Katharine Hilbery!” 

Mary’s selfpossession returned almost excessively; and 
her wele was decidedly cold; as if she must recoup 
herself for this ridiculous waste of emotion。 She moved 
her greenshaded lamp to another table; and covered 

“Some Aspects of the Democratic State” with a sheet of 
blottingpaper。 

“Why can’t they leave me alone?” she thought bitterly; 
connecting Katharine and Ralph in a conspiracy to take 
from her even this hour of solitary study; even this poor 
little defence against the world。 And; as she smoothed 
down the sheet of blottingpaper over the manuscript; 
she braced herself to resist Katharine; whose presence 
struck her; not mer

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