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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第34部分


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you; I will。” 

Perhaps it was that no man could expect to have the 

most momentous question of his life settled in a voice so 
level; so toneless; so devoid of joy or energy。 At any rate 
William made no answer。 She waited stoically。 A moment 
later he stepped briskly from his dressingroom; and observed 
that if she wanted to buy more oysters he thought 
he knew where they could find a fishmonger’s shop still 
open。 She breathed deeply a sigh of relief。 

Extract from a letter sent a few days later by Mrs。 Hilbery 
to her sisterinlaw; Mrs。 Milvain: 

“ … How stupid of me to forget the name in my telegram。 
Such a nice; rich; English name; too; and; in addition; 
he has all the graces of intellect; he has read literally 
everything。 I tell Katharine; I shall always put him on 
my right side at dinner; so as to have him by me when 
people begin talking about characters in Shakespeare。 
They won’t be rich; but they’ll be very; very happy。 I was 
sitting in my room late one night; feeling that nothing 
nice would ever happen to me again; when I heard 
Katharine outside in the passage; and I thought to my


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self; ‘Shall I call her in?’ and then I thought (in that 
hopeless; dreary way one does think; with the fire going 
out and one’s birthday just over); ‘Why should I lay my 
troubles on her?’ But my little selfcontrol had its reward; 
for next moment she tapped at the door and came in; and 
sat on the rug; and though we neither of us said anything; 
I felt so happy all of a second that I couldn’t help 
crying; ‘Oh; Katharine; when you e to my age; how I 
hope you’ll have a daughter; too!’ You know how silent 
Katharine is。 She was so silent; for such a long time; that 
in my foolish; nervous state I dreaded something; I don’t 
quite know what。 And then she told me how; after all; 
she had made up her mind。 She had written。 She expected 
him tomorrow。 At first I wasn’t glad at all。 I didn’t 
want her to marry any one; but when she said; ‘It will 
make no difference。 I shall always care for you and father 
most;’ then I saw how selfish I was; and I told her she 
must give him everything; everything; everything! I told 
her I should be thankful to e second。 But why; when 
everything’s turned out just as one always hoped it would 
turn out; why then can one do nothing but cry; nothing 

but feel a desolate old woman whose life’s been a failure; 
and now is nearly over; and age is so cruel? But Katharine 
said to me; ‘I am happy。 I’m very happy。’ And then I 
thought; though it all seemed so desperately dismal at 
the time; Katharine had said she was happy; and I should 
have a son; and it would all turn out so much more wonderfully 
than I could possibly imagine; for though the 
sermons don’t say so; I do believe the world is meant for 
us to be happy in。 She told me that they would live quite 
near us; and see us every day; and she would go on with 
the Life; and we should finish it as we had meant to。 
And; after all; it would be far more horrid if she didn’t 
marry—or suppose she married some one we couldn’t 
endure? Suppose she had fallen in love with some one 
who was married already? 

“And though one never thinks any one good enough for 
the people one’s fond of; he has the kindest; truest instincts; 
I’m sure; and though he seems nervous and his 
manner is not manding; I only think these things 
because it’s Katharine。 And now I’ve written this; it es 
over me that; of course; all the time; Katharine has what 

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Night and Day 

he hasn’t。 She does mand; she isn’t nervous; it es 
naturally to her to rule and control。 It’s time that she 
should give all this to some one who will need her when 
we aren’t there; save in our spirits; for whatever people 
say; I’m sure I shall e back to this wonderful world 
where one’s been so happy and so miserable; where; even 
now; I seem to see myself stretching out my hands for 
another present from the great Fairy Tree whose boughs 
are still hung with enchanting toys; though they are rarer 
now; perhaps; and between the branches one sees no 
longer the blue sky; but the stars and the tops of the 
mountains。 

“One doesn’t know any more; does one? One hasn’t any 
advice to give one’s children。 One can only hope that 
they will have the same vision and the same power to 
believe; without which life would be so meaningless。 That 
is what I ask for Katharine and her husband。” 

CHAPTER XII 


Is Mr。 Hilbery at home; or Mrs。 Hilbery?” Denham asked; 

of the parlormaid in Chelsea; a week later。 

“No; sir。 But Miss Hilbery is at home;” the girl answered。 

Ralph had anticipated many answers; but not this one; 
and now it was unexpectedly made plain to him that it 
was the chance of seeing Katharine that had brought him 
all the way to Chelsea on pretence of seeing her father。 

He made some show of considering the matter; and was 
taken upstairs to the drawingroom。 As upon that first 
occasion; some weeks ago; the door closed as if it were a 
thousand doors softly excluding the world; and once more 
Ralph received an impression of a room full of deep shadows; 
firelight; unwavering silver candle flames; and empty 
spaces to be crossed before reaching the round table in 
the middle of the room; with its frail burden of silver 
trays and china teacups。 But this time Katharine was there 
by herself; the volume in her hand showed that she expected 
no visitors。 

Ralph said something about hoping to find her father。 

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Virginia Woolf 

“My father is out;” she replied。 “But if you can wait; I 
expect him soon。” 

It might have been due merely to politeness; but Ralph 
felt that she received him almost with cordiality。 Perhaps 
she was bored by drinking tea and reading a book all 
alone; at any rate; she tossed the book on to a sofa with 
a gesture of relief。 

“Is that one of the moderns whom you despise?” he 
asked; smiling at the carelessness of her gesture。 

“Yes;” she replied。 “I think even you would despise him。” 

“Even I?” he repeated。 “Why even I?” 

“You said you liked modern things; I said I hated them。” 

This was not a very accurate report of their conversation 
among the relics; perhaps; but Ralph was flattered 
to think that she remembered anything about it。 

“Or did I confess that I hated all books?” she went on; 
seeing him look up with an air of inquiry。 “I forget—” 

“Do you hate all books?” he asked。 

“It would be absurd to say that I hate all books when 
I’ve only read ten; perhaps; but—’ Here she pulled herself 
up short。 

“Well?” 

“Yes; I do hate books;” she continued。 “Why do you 
want to be for ever talking about your feelings? That’s 
what I can’t make out。 And poetry’s all about feelings— 
novels are all about feelings。” 

She cut a cake vigorously into slices; and providing a 
tray with bread and butter for Mrs。 Hilbery; who was in 
her room with a cold; she rose to go upstairs。 

Ralph held the door open for her; and then stood with 
clasped hands in the middle of the room。 His eyes were 
bright; and; indeed; he scarcely knew whether they beheld 
dreams or realities。 All down the street and on the 
doorstep; and while he mounted the stairs; his dream of 
Katharine possessed him; on the threshold of the room 
he had dismissed it; in order to prevent too painful a 
collision between what he dreamt of her and what she 
was。 And in five minutes she had filled the shell of the 
old dream with the flesh of life; looked with fire out of 
phantom eyes。 He glanced about him with bewilderment 
at finding himself among her chairs and tables; they were 
solid; for he grasped the back of the chair in which 

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Night and Day 

Katharine had sat; and yet they were unreal; the atmosphere 
was that of a dream。 He summoned all the faculties 
of his spirit to seize what the minutes had to give 
him; and from the depths of his mind there rose unchecked 
a joyful recognition of the truth that human nature surpasses; 
in its beauty; all that our wildest dreams bring

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