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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第38部分


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pane in the west through thinning clouds。 His eyes were 
set on something infinitely far and remote; by that light 
he felt he could walk; and would; in future; have to find 

134 



Virginia Woolf 

his way。 But that was all there was left to him of a populous 
and teeming world。 

CHAPTER XIII 


The lunch hour in the office was only partly spent by 
Denham in the consumption of food。 Whether fine or wet; 
he passed most of it pacing the gravel paths in Lincoln’s 
Inn Fields。 The children got to know his figure; and the 
sparrows expected their daily scattering of breadcrumbs。 
No doubt; since he often gave a copper and almost always 
a handful of bread; he was not as blind to his surroundings 
as he thought himself。 

He thought that these winter days were spent in long 
hours before white papers radiant in electric light; and in 
short passages through fogdimmed streets。 When he came 
back to his work after lunch he carried in his head a 
picture of the Strand; scattered with omnibuses; and of 
the purple shapes of leaves pressed flat upon the gravel; 
as if his eyes had always been bent upon the ground。 His 
brain worked incessantly; but his thought was attended 
with so little joy that he did not willingly recall it; but 
drove ahead; now in this direction; now in that; and came 
home laden with dark books borrowed from a library。 

135 



Night and Day 

Mary Datchet; ing from the Strand at lunchtime; 
saw him one day taking his turn; closely buttoned in an 
overcoat; and so lost in thought that he might have been 
sitting in his own room。 

She was overe by something very like awe by the 
sight of him; then she felt much inclined to laugh; although 
her pulse beat faster。 She passed him; and he 
never saw her。 She came back and touched him on the 
shoulder。 

“Gracious; Mary!” he exclaimed。 “How you startled me!” 

“Yes。 You looked as if you were walking in your sleep;” 
she said。 “Are you arranging some terrible love affair? 
Have you got to reconcile a desperate couple?” 

“I wasn’t thinking about my work;” Ralph replied; rather 
hastily。 “And; besides; that sort of thing’s not in my line;” 
he added; rather grimly。 

The morning was fine; and they had still some minutes 
of leisure to spend。 They had not met for two or three 
weeks; and Mary had much to say to Ralph; but she was 
not certain how far he wished for her pany。 However; 
after a turn or two; in which a few facts were muni


cated; he suggested sitting down; and she took the seat 
beside him。 The sparrows came fluttering about them; and 
Ralph produced from his pocket the half of a roll saved 
from his luncheon。 He threw a few crumbs among them。 

“I’ve never seen sparrows so tame;” Mary observed; by 
way of saying something。 

“No;” said Ralph。 “The sparrows in Hyde Park aren’t as 
tame as this。 If we keep perfectly still; I’ll get one to 
settle on my arm。” 

Mary felt that she could have forgone this display of 
animal good temper; but seeing that Ralph; for some curious 
reason; took a pride in the sparrows; she bet him 
sixpence that he would not succeed。 

“Done!” he said; and his eye; which had been gloomy; 
showed a spark of light。 His conversation was now addressed 
entirely to a bald cocksparrow; who seemed bolder 
than the rest; and Mary took the opportunity of looking 
at him。 She was not satisfied; his face was worn; and his 
expression stern。 A child came bowling its hoop through 
the concourse of birds; and Ralph threw his last crumbs 
of bread into the bushes with a snort of impatience。 

136 



Virginia Woolf 

“That’s what always happens—just as I’ve almost got 
him;” he said。 “Here’s your sixpence; Mary。 But you’ve 
only got it thanks to that brute of a boy。 They oughtn’t 
to be allowed to bowl hoops here—” 

“Oughtn’t to be allowed to bowl hoops! My dear Ralph; 
what nonsense!” 

“You always say that;” he plained; “and it isn’t nonsense。 
What’s the point of having a garden if one can’t 
watch birds in it? The street does all right for hoops。 And 
if children can’t be trusted in the streets; their mothers 
should keep them at home。” 

Mary made no answer to this remark; but frowned。 

She leant back on the seat and looked about her at the 
great houses breaking the soft grayblue sky with their 
chimneys。 

“Ah; well;” she said; “London’s a fine place to live in。 I 
believe I could sit and watch people all day long。 I like 
my fellowcreatures… 。” 

Ralph sighed impatiently。 

“Yes; I think so; when you e to know them;” she 
added; as if his disagreement had been spoken。 

“That’s just when I don’t like them;” he replied。 “Still; I 
don’t see why you shouldn’t cherish that illusion; if it 
pleases you。” He spoke without much vehemence of agreement 
or disagreement。 He seemed chilled。 

“Wake up; Ralph! You’re half asleep!” Mary cried; turning 
and pinching his sleeve。 “What have you been doing 
with yourself? Moping? Working? Despising the world; as 
usual?” 

As he merely shook his head; and filled his pipe; she 
went on: 

“It’s a bit of a pose; isn’t it?” 

“Not more than most things;” he said。 

“Well;” Mary remarked; “I’ve a great deal to say to you; 
but I must go on—we have a mittee。” She rose; but 
hesitated; looking down upon him rather gravely。 “You 
don’t look happy; Ralph;” she said。 “Is it anything; or is 
it nothing?” 

He did not immediately answer her; but rose; too; and 
walked with her towards the gate。 As usual; he did not 
speak to her without considering whether what he was 
about to say was the sort of thing that he could say to her。 

137 



Night and Day 

“I’ve been bothered;” he said at length。 “Partly by work; 
and partly by family troubles。 Charles has been behaving 
like a fool。 He wants to go out to Canada as a farmer—” 

“Well; there’s something to be said for that;” said Mary; 
and they passed the gate; and walked slowly round the 
Fields again; discussing difficulties which; as a matter of 
fact; were more or less chronic in the Denham family; and 
only now brought forward to appease Mary’s sympathy; 
which; however; soothed Ralph more than he was aware 
of。 She made him at least dwell upon problems which 
were real in the sense that they were capable of solution; 
and the true cause of his melancholy; which was not susceptible 
to such treatment; sank rather more deeply into 
the shades of his mind。 

Mary was attentive; she was helpful。 Ralph could not 
help feeling grateful to her; the more so; perhaps; because 
he had not told her the truth about his state; and 
when they reached the gate again he wished to make 
some affectionate objection to her leaving him。 But his 
affection took the rather uncouth form of expostulating 
with her about her work。 

“What d’you want to sit on a mittee for?” he asked。 
“It’s waste of your time; Mary。” 

“I agree with you that a country walk would benefit the 
world more;” she said。 “Look here;” she added suddenly; 
“why don’t you e to us at Christmas? It’s almost the 
best time of year。” 

“e to you at Disham?” Ralph repeated。 

“Yes。 We won’t interfere with you。 But you can tell me 
later;” she said; rather hastily; and then started off in the 
direction of Russell Square。 She had invited him on the 
impulse of the moment; as a vision of the country came 
before her; and now she was annoyed with herself for 
having done so; and then she was annoyed at being annoyed。 


“If I can’t face a walk in a field alone with Ralph;” she 
reasoned; “I’d better buy a cat and live in a lodging at 
Ealing; like Sally Seal —and he won’t e。 Or did he 
mean that he would e?” 

She shook her head。 She really did not know what he 
had meant。 She never felt quite certain; but now she was 
more than usually baffled。 Was he concealing something 

138 



Virginia Woolf 

from her? His manner had been odd; his deep absorption 
had impressed her; there was something in him that she 
had not fathomed; and the mystery of his nature laid 
more of a s

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