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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第24部分


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Mamma sitting in her cashmere shawl by the window; 
singing till the little ragamuffin boys outside stopped to 
listen。 Papa sent me in with a bunch of violets while he 
waited round the corner。 It must have been a summer 
evening。 That was before things were hopeless… 。” 

As she spoke an expression of regret; which must have 
e frequently to cause the lines which now grew deep 
round the lips and eyes; settled on her face。 The poet’s 
marriage had not been a happy one。 He had left his wife; 
and after some years of a rather reckless existence; she 
had died; before her time。 This disaster had led to great 
irregularities of education; and; indeed; Mrs。 Hilbery might 
be said to have escaped education altogether。 But she 
had been her father’s panion at the season when he 
wrote the finest of his poems。 She had sat on his knee in 

taverns and other haunts of drunken poets; and it was for 
her sake; so people said; that he had cured himself of his 
dissipation; and bee the irreproachable literary character 
that the world knows; whose inspiration had deserted 
him。 As Mrs。 Hilbery grew old she thought more 
and more of the past; and this ancient disaster seemed at 
times almost to prey upon her mind; as if she could not 
pass out of life herself without laying the ghost of her 
parent’s sorrow to rest。 

Katharine wished to fort her mother; but it was difficult 
to do this satisfactorily when the facts themselves 
were so much of a legend。 The house in Russell Square; 
for example; with its noble rooms; and the magnoliatree 
in the garden; and the sweetvoiced piano; and the sound 
of feet ing down the corridors; and other properties 
of size and romance—had they any existence? Yet why 
should Mrs。 Alardyce live all alone in this gigantic mansion; 
and; if she did not live alone; with whom did she 
live? For its own sake; Katharine rather liked this tragic 
story; and would have been glad to hear the details of it; 
and to have been able to discuss them frankly。 But this it 

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Night and Day 

became less and less possible to do; for though Mrs。 
Hilbery was constantly reverting to the story; it was always 
in this tentative and restless fashion; as though by 
a touch here and there she could set things straight which 
had been crooked these sixty years。 Perhaps; indeed; she 
no longer knew what the truth was。 

“If they’d lived now;” she concluded; “I feel it wouldn’t 
have happened。 People aren’t so set upon tragedy as they 
were then。 If my father had been able to go round the 
world; or if she’d had a rest cure; everything would have 
e right。 But what could I do? And then they had bad 
friends; both of them; who made mischief。 Ah; Katharine; 
when you marry; be quite; quite sure that you love your 
husband!” 

The tears stood in Mrs。 Hilbery’s eyes。 

While forting her; Katharine thought to herself; “Now 
this is what Mary Datchet and Mr。 Denham don’t understand。 
This is the sort of position I’m always getting into。 
How simple it must be to live as they do!” for all the 
evening she had been paring her home and her father 
and mother with the Suffrage office and the people there。 

“But; Katharine;” Mrs。 Hilbery continued; with one of 
her sudden changes of mood; “though; Heaven knows; I 
don’t want to see you married; surely if ever a man loved 
a woman; William loves you。 And it’s a nice; richsounding 
name too—Katharine Rodney; which; unfortunately; 
doesn’t mean that he’s got any money; because he hasn’t。” 

The alteration of her name annoyed Katharine; and she 
observed; rather sharply; that she didn’t want to marry 
any one。 

“It’s very dull that you can only marry one husband; 
certainly;” Mrs。 Hilbery reflected。 “I always wish that you 
could marry everybody who wants to marry you。 Perhaps 
they’ll e to that in time; but meanwhile I confess 
that dear William—” But here Mr。 Hilbery came in; and 
the more solid part of the evening began。 This consisted 
in the reading aloud by Katharine from some prose work 
or other; while her mother knitted scarves intermittently 
on a little circular frame; and her father read the newspaper; 
not so attentively but that he could ment humorously 
now and again upon the fortunes of the hero 
and the heroine。 The Hilberys subscribed to a library; which 

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Virginia Woolf 

delivered books on Tuesdays and Fridays; and Katharine 
did her best to interest her parents in the works of living 
and highly respectable authors; but Mrs。 Hilbery was perturbed 
by the very look of the light; goldwreathed volumes; 
and would make little faces as if she tasted something 
bitter as the reading went on; while Mr。 Hilbery 
would treat the moderns with a curious elaborate banter 
such as one might apply to the antics of a promising 
child。 So this evening; after five pages or so of one of 
these masters; Mrs。 Hilbery protested that it was all too 
clever and cheap and nasty for words。 

“Please; Katharine; read us something real。” 

Katharine had to go to the bookcase and choose a portly 
volume in sleek; yellow calf; which had directly a sedative 
effect upon both her parents。 But the delivery of the 
evening post broke in upon the periods of Henry Fielding; 
and Katharine found that her letters needed all her 
attention。 

CHAPTER VIII 


She took her letters up to her room with her; having persuaded 
her mother to go to bed directly Mr。 Hilbery left 
them; for so long as she sat in the same room as her 
mother; Mrs。 Hilbery might; at any moment; ask for a 
sight of the post。 A very hasty glance through many sheets 
had shown Katharine that; by some coincidence; her attention 
had to be directed to many different anxieties 
simultaneously。 In the first place; Rodney had written a 
very full account of his state of mind; which was illustrated 
by a son; and he demanded a reconsideration 
of their position; which agitated Katharine more than 
she liked。 Then there were two letters which had to be 
laid side by side and pared before she could make out 
the truth of their story; and even when she knew the 
facts she could not decide what to make of them; and 
finally she had to reflect upon a great many pages from a 
cousin who found himself in financial difficulties; which 
forced him to the uncongenial occupation of teaching 
the young ladies of Bungay to play upon the violin。 

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Night and Day 

But the two letters which each told the same story 
differently were the chief source of her perplexity。 She 
was really rather shocked to find it definitely established 
that her own second cousin; Cyril Alardyce; had lived for 
the last four years with a woman who was not his wife; 
who had borne him two children; and was now about to 
bear him another。 This state of things had been discovered 
by Mrs。 Milvain; her aunt Celia; a zealous inquirer 
into such matters; whose letter was also under consideration。 
Cyril; she said; must be made to marry the woman 
at once; and Cyril; rightly or wrongly; was indignant with 
such interference with his affairs; and would not own 
that he had any cause to be ashamed of himself。 Had he 
any cause to be ashamed of himself; Katharine wondered; 
and she turned to her aunt again。 

“Remember;” she wrote; in her profuse; emphatic statement; 
“that he bears your grandfather’s name; and so will 
the child that is to be born。 The poor boy is not so much 
to blame as the woman who deluded him; thinking him a 
gentleman; which he is; and having money; which he has 
not。” 

“What would Ralph Denham say to this?” thought 
Katharine; beginning to pace up and down her bedroom。 
She twitched aside the curtains; so that; on turning; she 
was faced by darkness; and looking out; could just distinguish 
the branches of a plaree and the yellow lights 
of some one else’s windows。 

“What would Mary Datchet and Ralph Denham say?” 
she reflected; pausing by the window; which; as the night 
was warm; she raised; in order to feel the air upon her 
face; and to lose herself in the nothingness of night。 But 
with the air the distant humming sound of 

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