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From: | Bobbie Bird |
Subject: | [cks-devl] thunderstorm |
Date: | Sun, 17 Sep 2006 06:50:57 +0400 |
Dalloways drawing-room,suffering tortures, woken
wide awake to reality. She split the lengths of tissue paper apart on the
counter.
Miss Milan was much more real, much kinder. It was
the only use of men, she had said. A lady is known by her gloves and hershoes, old
Uncle William used to say.
But it was not her faultaltogether, after
all.
Andthe girl took the grey gloves with her to the
end of the counter. Half an rich above the elbow; pearl buttons; fiveand a
quarter.
He rowed her back and said good-bye to her. Andthe
girl took the grey gloves with her to the end of the counter.
But now that she wasforty, they might come more and
more seldom. Ifonly one could feel that and stick to it, always. She hadattracted
them first, and then her brothers friends from Oxford orCambridge. She found the
climate of Edinburgh goodfor her. She saw back and back into the pastbehind her. By
degrees she would cease tostruggle any more. Holmans notice, with herfamily always
tumbling downstairs or having the scarlet fever.
Why should a girl of that age paint black roundher
eyes?
None of the Crayes had married, Fanny Wilmot
remembered. She found the climate of Edinburgh goodfor her. It was so that Julia
looked too, as she sat half turned on the musicstool, smiling. For the sake of
others, she thought, taking the glove inher hand.
Miss Milan was much more real, much kinder. The
people she didntwant would come; the others wouldnt.
At that very moment soft laughter came from behind
a door. White gloves, she said, with some ring in her voice that Clarissaremembered.
Theyremained safe; and her habits would have suffered if she had
married.
The traffic suddenly roared; the silk stockings
brightened. Indeed, how could one then feel surprise if, lying in bed, she could
notclose her eyes?
One could make that yield what oneliked, Fanny
Wilmot thought, single out, for instance, Mr.
Andthe girl took the grey gloves with her to the
end of the counter. After all, she had not lived all her life in Salisbury. Good
Bertha, leaning with herhead against the chair, sighed profoundly.
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