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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第108部分


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as if they were in the way。 

“Have you had tea?” 

“Oh yes;” she said; thinking that she had had tea hundreds 
of years ago; somewhere or other。 

Mary paused; took off her gloves; and; finding matches; 
proceeded to light the fire。 

Katharine checked her with an impatient movement; 
and said: 

“Don’t light the fire for me… 。 I want to know Ralph 
Denham’s address。” 

She was holding a pencil and preparing to write on the 
envelope。 She waited with an imperious expression。 

“The Apple Orchard; Mount Ararat Road; Highgate;” Mary 
said; speaking slowly and rather strangely。 

385 



Night and Day 

“Oh; I remember now!” Katharine exclaimed; with irritation 
at her own stupidity。 “I suppose it wouldn’t take 
twenty minutes to drive there?” She gathered up her purse 
and gloves and seemed about to go。 

“But you won’t find him;” said Mary; pausing with a 
match in her hand。 Katharine; who had already turned 
towards the door; stopped and looked at her。 

“Why? Where is he?” she asked。 

“He won’t have left his office。” 

“But he has left the office;” she replied。 “The only question 
is will he have reached home yet? He went to see me 
at Chelsea; I tried to meet him and missed him。 He will 
have found no message to explain。 So I must find him— 
as soon as possible。” 

Mary took in the situation at her leisure。 

“But why not telephone?” she said。 

Katharine immediately dropped all that she was holding; 
her strained expression relaxed; and exclaiming; “Of course! 
Why didn’t I think of that!” she seized the telephone receiver 
and gave her number。 Mary looked at her steadily; 
and then left the room。 At length Katharine heard; through 

all the superimposed weight of London; the mysterious 
sound of feet in her own house mounting to the little 
room; where she could almost see the pictures and the 
books; she listened with extreme intentness to the preparatory 
vibrations; and then established her identity。 

“Has Mr。 Denham called?” 

“Yes; miss。” 

“Did he ask for me?” 

“Yes。 We said you were out; miss。” 

“Did he leave any message?” 

“No。 He went away。 About twenty minutes ago; miss。” 

Katharine hung up the receiver。 She walked the length 
of the room in such acute disappointment that she did 
not at first perceive Mary’s absence。 Then she called in a 
harsh and peremptory tone: 

“Mary。” 

Mary was taking off her outdoor things in the bedroom。 
She heard Katharine call her。 “Yes;” she said; “I shan’t be 
a moment。” But the moment prolonged itself; as if for 
some reason Mary found satisfaction in making herself 
not only tidy; but seemly and ornamented。 A stage in her 

386 



Virginia Woolf 

life had been acplished in the last months which left 
its traces for ever upon her bearing。 Youth; and the bloom 
of youth; had receded; leaving the purpose of her face to 
show itself in the hollower cheeks; the firmer lips; the 
eyes no longer spontaneously observing at random; but 
narrowed upon an end which was not near at hand。 This 
woman was now a serviceable human being; mistress of 
her own destiny; and thus; by some bination of ideas; 
fit to be adorned with the dignity of silver chains and 
glowing brooches。 She came in at her leisure and asked: 
“Well; did you get an answer?” 

“He has left Chelsea already;” Katharine replied。 

“Still; he won’t be home yet;” said Mary。 

Katharine was once more irresistibly drawn to gaze upon 
an imaginary map of London; to follow the twists and 
turns of unnamed streets。 

“I’ll ring up his home and ask whether he’s back。” Mary 
crossed to the telephone and; after a series of brief remarks; 
announced: 

“No。 His sister says he hasn’t e back yet。” 

“Ah!” She applied her ear to the telephone once more。 

“They’ve had a message。 He won’t be back to dinner。” 

“Then what is he going to do?” 

Very pale; and with her large eyes fixed not so much 
upon Mary as upon vistas of unresponding blankness; 
Katharine addressed herself also not so much to Mary as 
to the unrelenting spirit which now appeared to mock 
her from every quarter of her survey。 

After waiting a little time Mary remarked indifferently: 

“I really don’t know。” Slackly lying back in her armchair; 
she watched the little flames beginning to creep 
among the coals indifferently; as if they; too; were very 
distant and indifferent。 

Katharine looked at her indignantly and rose。 

“Possibly he may e here;” Mary continued; without 
altering the abstract tone of her voice。 “It would be worth 
your while to wait if you want to see him tonight。” She 
bent forward and touched the wood; so that the flames 
slipped in between the interstices of the coal。 

Katharine reflected。 “I’ll wait half an hour;” she said。 
Mary rose; went to the table; spread out her papers 
under the greenshaded lamp and; with an action that 

387 



Night and Day 

was being a habit; twisted a lock of hair round and 
round in her fingers。 Once she looked unperceived at her 
visitor; who never moved; who sat so still; with eyes so 
intent; that you could almost fancy that she was watching 
something; some face that never looked up at her。 
Mary found herself unable to go on writing。 She turned 
her eyes away; but only to be aware of the presence of 
what Katharine looked at。 There were ghosts in the room; 
and one; strangely and sadly; was the ghost of herself。 
The minutes went by。 

“What would be the time now?” said Katharine at last。 
The halfhour was not quite spent。 

“I’m going to get dinner ready;” said Mary; rising from 
her table。 

“Then I’ll go;” said Katharine。 

“Why don’t you stay? Where are you going?” 

Katharine looked round the room; conveying her uncertainty 
in her glance。 

“Perhaps I might find him;” she mused。 

“But why should it matter? You’ll see him another day。” 

Mary spoke; and intended to speak; cruelly enough。 

“I was wrong to e here;” Katharine replied。 

Their eyes met with antagonism; and neither flinched。 

“You had a perfect right to e here;” Mary answered。 

A loud knocking at the door interrupted them。 Mary 
went to open it; and returning with some note or parcel; 
Katharine looked away so that Mary might not read her 
disappointment。 

“Of course you had a right to e;” Mary repeated; 
laying the note upon the table。 

“No;” said Katharine。 “Except that when one’s desperate 
one has a sort of right。 I am desperate。 How do I 
know what’s happening to him now? He may do anything。 
He may wander about the streets all night。 Anything may 
happen to him。” 

She spoke with a selfabandonment that Mary had never 
seen in her。 

“You know you exaggerate; you’re talking nonsense;” 
she said roughly。 

“Mary; I must talk—I must tell you—” 

“You needn’t tell me anything;” Mary interrupted her。 
“Can’t I see for myself?” 

388 



Virginia Woolf 

“No; no;” Katharine exclaimed。 “It’s not that—” 

Her look; passing beyond Mary; beyond the verge of the 
room and out beyond any words that came her way; wildly 
and passionately; convinced Mary that she; at any rate; 
could not follow such a glance to its end。 She was baffled; 
she tried to think herself back again into the height of 
her love for Ralph。 Pressing her fingers upon her eyelids; 
she murmured: 

“You forget that I loved him too。 I thought I knew him。 
I did know him。” 

And yet; what had she known? She could not remember 
it any more。 She pressed her eyeballs until they struck 
stars and suns into her darkness。 She convinced herself 
that she was stirring among ashes。 She desisted。 She was 
astonished at her discovery。 She did not love Ralph any 
more。 She looked back dazed into the room; and her eyes 
rested upon the table with its lamplit papers。 The steady 
radiance seemed for a second to have its counterpart 
within her; she shut her eyes; she opened them and looked 
at the lamp again; another love burnt in the place of the 
old one; or so; in a momentary glance of amazement; she 

guess

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