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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第66部分


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sometimes think—” She paused; she did not know how 
to express what she meant。 

“It came over me in the Tube the other day;” she resumed; 
with a smile; “what is it that makes these people 
go one way rather than the other? It’s not love; it’s not 
reason; I think it must be some idea。 Perhaps; Mary; our 
affections are the shadow of an idea。 Perhaps there isn’t 
any such thing as affection in itself… 。” She spoke half
mockingly; asking her question; which she scarcely troubled 
to frame; not of Mary; or of any one in particular。 

But the words seemed to Mary Datchet shallow; supercilious; 
coldblooded; and cynical all in one。 All her natural 
instincts were roused in revolt against them。 

“I’m the opposite way of thinking; you see;” she said。 

“Yes; I know you are;” Katharine replied; looking at her 
as if now she were about; perhaps; to explain something 
very important。 

Mary could not help feeling the simplicity and good 
faith that lay behind Katharine’s words。 

“I think affection is the only reality;” she said。 

“Yes;” said Katharine; almost sadly。 She understood that 
Mary was thinking of Ralph; and she felt it impossible to 
press her to reveal more of this exalted condition; she 
could only respect the fact that; in some few cases; life 
arranged itself thus satisfactorily and pass on。 She rose 
to her feet accordingly。 But Mary exclaimed; with unmistakable 
earnestness; that she must not go; that they met 
so seldom; that she wanted to talk to her so much… 。 
Katharine was surprised at the earnestness with which 
she spoke。 It seemed to her that there could be no indiscretion 
in mentioning Ralph by name。 

Seating herself “for ten minutes;” she said: “By the 
way; Mr。 Denham told me he was going to give up the Bar 
and live in the country。 Has he gone? He was beginning 
to tell me about it; when we were interrupted。” 

235 



Night and Day 

“He thinks of it;” said Mary briefly。 The color at once 
came to her face。 

“It would be a very good plan;” said Katharine in her 
decided way。 

“You think so?” 

“Yes; because he would do something worth while; he 
would write a book。 My father always says that he’s the 
most remarkable of the young men who write for him。” 

Mary bent low over the fire and stirred the coal between 
the bars with a poker。 Katharine’s mention of Ralph 
had roused within her an almost irresistible desire to 
explain to her the true state of the case between herself 
and Ralph。 She knew; from the tone of her voice; that in 
speaking of Ralph she had no desire to probe Mary’s secrets; 
or to insinuate any of her own。 Moreover; she liked 
Katharine; she trusted her; she felt a respect for her。 The 
first step of confidence was paratively simple; but a 
further confidence had revealed itself; as Katharine spoke; 
which was not so simple; and yet it impressed itself upon 
her as a necessity; she must tell Katharine what it was 
clear that she had no conception of—she must tell 

Katharine that Ralph was in love with her。 

“I don’t know what he means to do;” she said hurriedly; 
seeking time against the pressure of her own conviction。 
“I’ve not seen him since Christmas。” 

Katharine reflected that this was odd; perhaps; after 
all; she had misunderstood the position。 She was in the 
habit of assuming; however; that she was rather unobservant 
of the finer shades of feeling; and she noted her 
present failure as another proof that she was a practical; 
abstractminded person; better fitted to deal with figures 
than with the feelings of men and women。 Anyhow; 
William Rodney would say so。 

“And now—” she said。 

“Oh; please stay!” Mary exclaimed; putting out her hand 
to stop her。 Directly Katharine moved she felt; inarticulately 
and violently; that she could not bear to let her go。 
If Katharine went; her only chance of speaking was lost; 
her only chance of saying something tremendously important 
was lost。 Half a dozen words were sufficient to 
wake Katharine’s attention; and put flight and further 
silence beyond her power。 But although the words came 

236 



Virginia Woolf 

to her lips; her throat closed upon them and drove them 
back。 After all; she considered; why should she speak? 
Because it is right; her instinct told her; right to expose 
oneself without reservations to other human beings。 She 
flinched from the thought。 It asked too much of one already 
stripped bare。 Something she must keep of her own。 
But if she did keep something of her own? Immediately 
she figured an immured life; continuing for an immense 
period; the same feelings living for ever; neither dwindling 
nor changing within the ring of a thick stone wall。 
The imagination of this loneliness frightened her; and 
yet to speak—to lose her loneliness; for it had already 
bee dear to her; was beyond her power。 

Her hand went down to the hem of Katharine’s skirt; 
and; fingering a line of fur; she bent her head as if to 
examine it。 

“I like this fur;” she said; “I like your clothes。 And you 
mustn’t think that I’m going to marry Ralph;” she continued; 
in the same tone; “because he doesn’t care for me at 
all。 He cares for some one else。” Her head remained bent; 
and her hand still rested upon the skirt。 

“It’s a shabby old dress;” said Katharine; and the only 
sign that Mary’s words had reached her was that she spoke 
with a little jerk。 

“You don’t mind my telling you that?” said Mary; raising 
herself。 

“No; no;” said Katharine; “but you’re mistaken; aren’t 
you?” She was; in truth; horribly unfortable; dismayed; 
indeed; disillusioned。 She disliked the turn things had 
taken quite intensely。 The indecency of it afflicted her。 
The suffering implied by the tone appalled her。 She looked 
at Mary furtively; with eyes that were full of apprehension。 
But if she had hoped to find that these words had 
been spoken without understanding of their meaning; 
she was at once disappointed。 Mary lay back in her chair; 
frowning slightly; and looking; Katharine thought; as if 
she had lived fifteen years or so in the space of a few 
minutes。 

“There are some things; don’t you think; that one can’t 
be mistaken about?” Mary said; quietly and almost coldly。 
“That is what puzzles me about this question of being in 
love。 I’ve always prided myself upon being reasonable;” 

237 



Night and Day 

she added。 “I didn’t think I could have felt this—I mean 
if the other person didn’t。 I was foolish。 I let myself 
pretend。” Here she paused。 “For; you see; Katharine;” she 
proceeded; rousing herself and speaking with greater 
energy; “I am in love。 There’s no doubt about that… 。 I’m 
tremendously in love … with Ralph。” The little forward 
shake of her head; which shook a lock of hair; together 
with her brighter color; gave her an appearance at once 
proud and defiant。 

Katharine thought to herself; “That’s how it feels then。” 
She hesitated; with a feeling that it was not for her to 
speak; and then said; in a low tone; “You’ve got that。” 

“Yes;” said Mary; “I’ve got that。 One wouldn’t not be in 
love… 。 But I didn’t mean to talk about that; I only 
wanted you to know。 There’s another thing I want to tell 
you …” She paused。 “I haven’t any authority from Ralph 
to say it; but I’m sure of this—he’s in love with you。” 

Katharine looked at her again; as if her first glance 
must have been deluded; for; surely; there must be some 
outward sign that Mary was talking in an excited; or bewildered; 
or fantastic manner。 No; she still frowned; as if 

she sought her way through the clauses of a difficult 
argument; but she still looked more like one who reasons 
than one who feels。 

“That proves that you’re mistaken—utterly mistaken;” 
said Katharine; speaking reasonably; too。 She had no need 
to verify the mistake by a glance at her own recollections; 
when the fact was so clearly stamped upon her 
mind that if Ralph had any feeling towards her it was one 
of critical hostility。 She did not give the matter another 
though

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