Monday, November 28, 2011

Life; London; this moment of June

Mrs Dalloway-Folio Society

For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it would come over her, If he were here with me now what would he say?--some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared for people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning - indeed they did.  But Peter - however beautiful the day might be, and the trees and the grass, and the little girl in pink - Peter never saw a thing of all that.  He would put on his spectacles, if she told him to; he would look.  It was the state of the world that interested him; Wagner, Pope's poetry, people's characters eternally, and the defects of her own soul.  How he scolded her! How they argued! She would marry a prime minister and stand at the top of a staircase; the perfect hostess he called her (she had cried over it in her bedroom), she had the makings of the perfect hostess, he said.
excerpt from 'mrs dalloway' by virginia woolf

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