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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第102部分


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“I love him?” she repeated。 He nodded。 She searched 
his face; as if for further confirmation of his words; and; 
as he remained silent and expectant; turned away once 
more and continued her thoughts。 He observed her closely; 
but without stirring; as if he gave her time to make up 
her mind to fulfil her obvious duty。 The strains of Mozart 
reached them from the room above。 

“Now;” she said suddenly; with a sort of desperation; 
rising from her chair and seeming to mand Rodney to 
fulfil his part。 He drew the curtain instantly; and she 
made no attempt to stop him。 Their eyes at once sought 
the same spot beneath the lamppost。 

“He’s not there!” she exclaimed。 

No one was there。 William threw the window up and looked 

out。 The wind rushed into the room; together with the 
sound of distant wheels; footsteps hurrying along the pavement; 
and the cries of sirens hooting down the river。 

“Denham!” William cried。 

“Ralph!” said Katharine; but she spoke scarcely louder 
than she might have spoken to some one in the same 
room。 With their eyes fixed upon the opposite side of the 
road; they did not notice a figure close to the railing 
which divided the garden from the street。 But Denham 
had crossed the road and was standing there。 They were 
startled by his voice close at hand。 

“Rodney!” 

“There you are! e in; Denham。” Rodney went to the 
front door and opened it。 “Here he is;” he said; bringing 
Ralph with him into the diningroom where Katharine 
stood; with her back to the open window。 Their eyes met 
for a second。 Denham looked half dazed by the strong 
light; and; buttoned in his overcoat; with his hair ruffled 
across his forehead by the wind; he seemed like somebody 
rescued from an open boat out at sea。 William 
promptly shut the window and drew the curtains。 He acted 

364 



Virginia Woolf 

with a cheerful decision as if he were master of the situation; 
and knew exactly what he meant to do。 

“You’re the first to hear the news; Denham;” he said。 
“Katharine isn’t going to marry me; after all。” 

“Where shall I put—” Ralph began vaguely; holding 
out his hat and glancing about him; he balanced it carefully 
against a silver bowl that stood upon the sideboard。 
He then sat himself down rather heavily at the head of 
the oval dinnertable。 Rodney stood on one side of him 
and Katharine on the other。 He appeared to be presiding 
over some meeting from which most of the members were 
absent。 Meanwhile; he waited; and his eyes rested upon 
the glow of the beautifully polished mahogany table。 

“William is engaged to Cassandra;” said Katharine briefly。 

At that Denham looked up quickly at Rodney。 Rodney’s 
expression changed。 He lost his selfpossession。 He smiled 
a little nervously; and then his attention seemed to be 
caught by a fragment of melody from the floor above。 He 
seemed for a moment to forget the presence of the others。 
He glanced towards the door。 

“I congratulate you;” said Denham。 

“Yes; yes。 We’re all mad—quite out of our minds; 
Denham;” he said。 “It’s partly Katharine’s doing—partly 
mine。” He looked oddly round the room as if he wished to 
make sure that the scene in which he played a part had 
some real existence。 “Quite mad;” he repeated。 “Even 
Katharine—” His gaze rested upon her finally; as if she; 
too; had changed from his old view of her。 He smiled at 
her as if to encourage her。 “Katharine shall explain;” he 
said; and giving a little nod to Denham; he left the room。 

Katharine sat down at once; and leant her chin upon 
her hands。 So long as Rodney was in the room the proceedings 
of the evening had seemed to be in his charge; 
and had been marked by a certain unreality。 Now that 
she was alone with Ralph she felt at once that a constraint 
had been taken from them both。 She felt that 
they were alone at the bottom of the house; which rose; 
story upon story; upon the top of them。 

“Why were you waiting out there?” she asked。 

“For the chance of seeing you;” he replied。 

“You would have waited all night if it hadn’t been for 
William。 It’s windy too。 You must have been cold。 What 

365 



Night and Day 

could you see? Nothing but our windows。” 

“It was worth it。 I heard you call me。” 

“I called you?” She had called unconsciously。 

“They were engaged this morning;” she told him; after 
a pause。 

“You’re glad?” he asked。 

She bent her head。 “Yes; yes;” she sighed。 “But you 
don’t know how good he is—what he’s done for me—” 
Ralph made a sound of understanding。 “You waited there 
last night too?” she asked。 

“Yes。 I can wait;” Denham replied。 

The words seemed to fill the room with an emotion 
which Katharine connected with the sound of distant 
wheels; the footsteps hurrying along the pavement; the 
cries of sirens hooting down the river; the darkness and 
the wind。 She saw the upright figure standing beneath 
the lamppost。 

“Waiting in the dark;” she said; glancing at the window; 
as if he saw what she was seeing。 “Ah; but it’s different—” 
She broke off。 “I’m not the person you think 
me。 Until you realize that it’s impossible—” 

Placing her elbows on the table; she slid her ruby ring 
up and down her finger abstractedly。 She frowned at the 
rows of leatherbound books opposite her。 Ralph looked 
keenly at her。 Very pale; but sternly concentrated upon 
her meaning; beautiful but so little aware of herself as to 
seem remote from him also; there was something distant 
and abstract about her which exalted him and chilled 
him at the same time。 

“No; you’re right;” he said。 “I don’t know you。 I’ve never 
known you。” 

“Yet perhaps you know me better than any one else;” 
she mused。 

Some detached instinct made her aware that she was 
gazing at a book which belonged by rights to some other 
part of the house。 She walked over to the shelf; took it 
down; and returned to her seat; placing the book on the 
table between them。 Ralph opened it and looked at the 
portrait of a man with a voluminous white shirtcollar; 
which formed the frontispiece。 

“I say I do know you; Katharine;” he affirmed; shutting 
the book。 “It’s only for moments that I go mad。” 

366 



Virginia Woolf 

“Do you call two whole nights a moment?” 

“I swear to you that now; at this instant; I see you 
precisely as you are。 No one has ever known you as I 
know you… 。 Could you have taken down that book just 
now if I hadn’t known you?” 

“That’s true;” she replied; “but you can’t think how I’m 
divided—how I’m at my ease with you; and how I’m bewildered。 
The unreality—the dark—the waiting outside 
in the wind—yes; when you look at me; not seeing me; 
and I don’t see you either… 。 But I do see;” she went on 
quickly; changing her position and frowning again; “heaps 
of things; only not you。” 

“Tell me what you see;” he urged。 

But she could not reduce her vision to words; since it 
was no single shape colored upon the dark; but rather a 
general excitement; an atmosphere; which; when she tried 
to visualize it; took form as a wind scouring the flanks of 
northern hills and flashing light upon cornfields and pools。 

“Impossible;” she sighed; laughing at the ridiculous notion 
of putting any part of this into words。 

“Try; Katharine;” Ralph urged her。 

“But I can’t—I’m talking a sort of nonsense—the sort 
of nonsense one talks to oneself。” She was dismayed by 
the expression of longing and despair upon his face。 “I 
was thinking about a mountain in the North of England;” 
she attempted。 “It’s too silly—I won’t go on。” 

“We were there together?” he pressed her。 

“No。 I was alone。” She seemed to be disappointing the 
desire of a child。 His face fell。 

“You’re always alone there?” 

“I can’t explain。” She could not explain that she was 
essentially alone there。 “It’s not a mountain in the North 
of England。 It’s an imagination—a story one tells oneself。 
You have yours too?” 

“You’re with me in mine。 You’re the thing I make up; 
you 

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