Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning—fresh as if issued to children on a beach.
What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air.
How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen;looking at the flowers, at the trees with the smoke winding off them and the rooks rising, falling; standing and looking until Peter Walsh said, “Musing among the vegetables?”—was that it?—“I prefer men to cauliflowers”—was that it?He must have said it at breakfast one morning when she had gone out on to the terrace—Peter Walsh. He would be back from India one of these days, June or July, she forgot which, for his letters were awfully dull; it was his sayings one remembered; his eyes, his pocket-knife, his smile, his grumpiness and, when millions of things had utterly vanished—how strange it was!—a few sayings like this about cabbages.
达洛维夫人说她想自己去买些花,露西有自己的活要做。门要从合页上卸下来以便客人进入;朗贝梅尔家政公司的人也要来准备晚会了。此时,克莱丽莎·达洛维想,多美好的早晨啊——像为海滩上的孩子们准备的一样清新。
多么地欢快雀跃!听着合叶轻微的吱呀声, 猛地打开落地窗,投入伯顿新鲜空气的怀抱,这些对她来说总是这么美好。
多清新,多宁静,比现在更沉寂,清晨的空气似拍打的浪花,似海浪的亲吻,透凉而锐利甚至(对于18岁少女时代的她来说)显得肃穆,她站在敞开的窗前感受着这一切,却觉得有糟糕的事情要发生; 望着那些鲜花,烟雾缠绕的树与那些飞起又回巢的白嘴鸦,她就这样站着,看着,直到彼得·沃尔什说"望着蔬菜在沉思吗?”当时他是这么说的吧?还是说"我喜欢人,不是花椰菜"? 他一定是在有一天早饭时这么说的,当时她去了露天阳台。这几天他就要从印度回来了,是六月还是七月,她可记不起他那些枯燥乏味的信;记着的是他的话;而他的眼神,他的小折刀,他的笑,他的坏脾气,还有,无数的事都消失了以后,奇怪的是像这样关于蔬菜的几句话犹在耳边。
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