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第67章

[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第67章


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mind that if Ralph had any feeling towards her it was one 
of critical hostility。 She did not give the matter another 
thought; and Mary; now that she had stated the fact; did 
not seek to prove it; but tried to explain to herself; rather 
than to Katharine; her motives in making the statement。 

She had nerved herself to do what some large and imperious 
instinct demanded her doing; she had been swept 
on the breast of a wave beyond her reckoning。 

“I’ve told you;” she said; “because I want you to help 
me。 I don’t want to be jealous of you。 And I am—I’m 
fearfully jealous。 The only way; I thought; was to tell 
you。” 

She hesitated; and groped in her endeavor to make her 
feelings clear to herself。 

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Virginia Woolf 

“If I tell you; then we can talk; and when I’m jealous; I 
can tell you。 And if I’m tempted to do something frightfully 
mean; I can tell you; you could make me tell you。 I 
find talking so difficult; but loneliness frightens me。 I 
should shut it up in my mind。 Yes; that’s what I’m afraid 
of。 Going about with something in my mind all my life 
that never changes。 I find it so difficult to change。 When 
I think a thing’s wrong I never stop thinking it wrong; 
and Ralph was quite right; I see; when he said that there’s 
no such thing as right and wrong; no such thing; I mean; 
as judging people—” 

“Ralph Denham said that?” said Katharine; with considerable 
indignation。 In order to have produced such suffering 
in Mary; it seemed to her that he must have behaved 
with extreme callousness。 It seemed to her that he had 
discarded the friendship; when it suited his convenience 
to do so; with some falsely philosophical theory which 
made his conduct all the worse。 She was going on to express 
herself thus; had not Mary at once interrupted her。 

“No; no;” she said; “you don’t understand。 If there’s 
any fault it’s mine entirely; after all; if one chooses to 

run risks—” 

Her voice faltered into silence。 It was borne in upon 
her how pletely in running her risk she had lost her 
prize; lost it so entirely that she had no longer the right; 
in talking of Ralph; to presume that her knowledge of 
him supplanted all other knowledge。 She no longer pletely 
possessed her love; since his share in it was doubtful; 
and now; to make things yet more bitter; her clear 
vision of the way to face life was rendered tremulous and 
uncertain; because another was witness of it。 Feeling her 
desire for the old unshared intimacy too great to be borne 
without tears; she rose; walked to the farther end of the 
room; held the curtains apart; and stood there mastered 
for a moment。 The grief itself was not ignoble; the sting 
of it lay in the fact that she had been led to this act of 
treachery against herself。 Trapped; cheated; robbed; first 
by Ralph and then by Katharine; she seemed all dissolved 
in humiliation; and bereft of anything she could call her 
own。 Tears of weakness welled up and rolled down her 
cheeks。 But tears; at least; she could control; and would 
this instant; and then; turning; she would face Katharine; 

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Night and Day 

and retrieve what could be retrieved of the collapse of 
her courage。 

She turned。 Katharine had not moved; she was leaning 
a little forward in her chair and looking into the fire。 
Something in the attitude reminded Mary of Ralph。 So he 
would sit; leaning forward; looking rather fixedly in front 
of him; while his mind went far away; exploring; speculating; 
until he broke off with his; “Well; Mary?”—and 
the silence; that had been so full of romance to her; gave 
way to the most delightful talk that she had ever known。 

Something unfamiliar in the pose of the silent figure; 
something still; solemn; significant about it; made her 
hold her breath。 She paused。 Her thoughts were without 
bitterness。 She was surprised by her own quiet and confidence。 
She came back silently; and sat once more by 
Katharine’s side。 Mary had no wish to speak。 In the silence 
she seemed to have lost her isolation; she was at 
once the sufferer and the pitiful spectator of suffering; 
she was happier than she had ever been; she was more 
bereft; she was rejected; and she was immensely beloved。 
Attempt to express these sensations was vain; and; more


over; she could not help believing that; without any words 
on her side; they were shared。 Thus for some time longer 
they sat silent; side by side; while Mary fingered the fur 
on the skirt of the old dress。 

240 



Virginia Woolf 

CHAPTER XXII 


The fact that she would be late in keeping her engagement 
with William was not the only reason which sent 
Katharine almost at racing speed along the Strand in the 
direction of his rooms。 Punctuality might have been 
achieved by taking a cab; had she not wished the open 
air to fan into flame the glow kindled by Mary’s words。 
For among all the impressions of the evening’s talk one 
was of the nature of a revelation and subdued the rest to 
insignificance。 Thus one looked; thus one spoke; such 
was love。 

“She sat up straight and looked at me; and then she 
said; ‘I’m in love;’” Katharine mused; trying to set the 
whole scene in motion。 It was a scene to dwell on with so 
much wonder that not a grain of pity occurred to her; it 
was a flame blazing suddenly in the dark; by its light 
Katharine perceived far too vividly for her fort the 
mediocrity; indeed the entirely fictitious character of her 
own feelings so far as they pretended to correspond with 
Mary’s feelings。 She made up her mind to act instantly 

upon the knowledge thus gained; and cast her mind in 
amazement back to the scene upon the heath; when she 
had yielded; heaven knows why; for reasons which seemed 
now imperceptible。 So in broad daylight one might revisit 
the place where one has groped and turned and 
succumbed to utter bewilderment in a fog。 

“It’s all so simple;” she said to herself。 “There can’t be 
any doubt。 I’ve only got to speak now。 I’ve only got to 
speak;” she went on saying; in time to her own footsteps; 
and pletely forgot Mary Datchet。 

William Rodney; having e back earlier from the office 
than he expected; sat down to pick out the melodies 
in “The Magic Flute” upon the piano。 Katharine was late; 
but that was nothing new; and; as she had no particular 
liking for music; and he felt in the mood for it; perhaps it 
was as well。 This defect in Katharine was the more strange; 
William reflected; because; as a rule; the women of her 
family were unusually musical。 Her cousin; Cassandra 
Otway; for example; had a very fine taste in music; and 
he had charming recollections of her in a light fantastic 
attitude; playing the flute in the morningroom at Stogdon 

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Night and Day 

House。 He recalled with pleasure the amusing way in which 
her nose; long like all the Otway noses; seemed to extend 
itself into the flute; as if she were some inimitably graceful 
species of musical mole。 The little picture suggested 
very happily her melodious and whimsical temperament。 
The enthusiasms of a young girl of distinguished upbringing 
appealed to William; and suggested a thousand ways 
in which; with his training and acplishments; he could 
be of service to her。 She ought to be given the chance of 
hearing good music; as it is played by those who have 
inherited the great tradition。 Moreover; from one or two 
remarks let fall in the course of conversation; he thought 
it possible that she had what Katharine professed to lack; 
a passionate; if untaught; appreciation of literature。 He 
had lent her his play。 Meanwhile; as Katharine was certain 
to be late; and “The Magic Flute” is nothing without 
a voice; he felt inclined to spend the time of waiting in 
writing a letter to Cassandra; exhorting her to read Pope 
in preference to Dostoevsky; until her feeling for form 
was more highly developed。 He set himself down to pose 
this piece of advice in a shape which was light and 

playful; and yet did no injury to a cause which he had 
near at heart; when he heard Katharine upon the stairs。 

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