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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第68部分


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playful; and yet did no injury to a cause which he had 
near at heart; when he heard Katharine upon the stairs。 
A moment later it was plain that he had been mistaken; 
it was not Katharine; but he could not settle himself to 
his letter。 His temper had changed from one of urbane 
contentment—indeed of delicious expansion—to one of 
uneasiness and expectation。 The dinner was brought in; 
and had to be set by the fire to keep hot。 It was now a 
quarter of an hour beyond the specified time。 He bethought 
him of a piece of news which had depressed him 
in the earlier part of the day。 Owing to the illness of one 
of his fellowclerks; it was likely that he would get no 
holiday until later in the year; which would mean the 
postponement of their marriage。 But this possibility; after 
all; was not so disagreeable as the probability which 
forced itself upon him with every tick of the clock that 
Katharine had pletely forgotten her engagement。 Such 
things had happened less frequently since Christmas; but 
what if they were going to begin to happen again? What 
if their marriage should turn out; as she had said; a farce? 
He acquitted her of any wish to hurt him wantonly; but 

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there was something in her character which made it impossible 
for her to help hurting people。 Was she cold? 
Was she selfabsorbed? He tried to fit her with each of 
these descriptions; but he had to own that she puzzled 
him。 

“There are so many things that she doesn’t understand;” 
he reflected; glancing at the letter to Cassandra which he 
had begun and laid aside。 What prevented him from finishing 
the letter which he had so much enjoyed beginning? 
The reason was that Katharine might; at any moment; 
enter the room。 The thought; implying his bondage 
to her; irritated him acutely。 It occurred to him that 
he would leave the letter lying open for her to see; and 
he would take the opportunity of telling her that he had 
sent his play to Cassandra for her to criticize。 Possibly; 
but not by any means certainly; this would annoy her— 
and as he reached the doubtful fort of this conclusion; 
there was a knock on the door and Katharine came 
in。 They kissed each other coldly and she made no apology 
for being late。 Nevertheless; her mere presence moved 
him strangely; but he was determined that this should 

not weaken his resolution to make some kind of stand 
against her; to get at the truth about her。 He let her 
make her own disposition of clothes and busied himself 
with the plates。 

“I’ve got a piece of news for you; Katharine;” he said 
directly they sat down to table; “I shan’t get my holiday 
in April。 We shall have to put off our marriage。” 

He rapped the words out with a certain degree of briskness。 
Katharine started a little; as if the announcement 
disturbed her thoughts。 

“That won’t make any difference; will it? I mean the 
lease isn’t signed;” she replied。 “But why? What has happened?” 


He told her; in an offhand way; how one of his fellow
clerks had broken down; and might have to be away for 
months; six months even; in which case they would have 
to think over their position。 He said it in a way which 
struck her; at last; as oddly casual。 She looked at him。 
There was no outward sign that he was annoyed with her。 
Was she well dressed? She thought sufficiently so。 Perhaps 
she was late? She looked for a clock。 

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Night and Day 

“It’s a good thing we didn’t take the house then;” she 
repeated thoughtfully。 

“It’ll mean; too; I’m afraid; that I shan’t be as free for 
a considerable time as I have been;” he continued。 She 
had time to reflect that she gained something by all this; 
though it was too soon to determine what。 But the light 
which had been burning with such intensity as she came 
along was suddenly overclouded; as much by his manner 
as by his news。 She had been prepared to meet opposition; 
which is simple to encounter pared with—she 
did not know what it was that she had to encounter。 The 
meal passed in quiet; wellcontrolled talk about indifferent 
things。 Music was not a subject about which she knew 
anything; but she liked him to tell her things; and could; 
she mused; as he talked; fancy the evenings of married 
life spent thus; over the fire; spent thus; or with a book; 
perhaps; for then she would have time to read her books; 
and to grasp firmly with every muscle of her unused mind 
what she longed to know。 The atmosphere was very free。 
Suddenly William broke off。 She looked up apprehensively; 
brushing aside these thoughts with annoyance。 

“Where should I address a letter to Cassandra?” he asked 
her。 It was obvious again that William had some meaning 
or other tonight; or was in some mood。 “We’ve struck up 
a friendship;” he added。 

“She’s at home; I think;” Katharine replied。 

“They keep her too much at home;” said William。 “Why 
don’t you ask her to stay with you; and let her hear a 
little good music? I’ll just finish what I was saying; if you 
don’t mind; because I’m particularly anxious that she 
should hear tomorrow。” 

Katharine sank back in her chair; and Rodney took the 
paper on his knees; and went on with his sentence。 “Style; 
you know; is what we tend to neglect—”; but he was far 
more conscious of Katharine’s eye upon him than of what 
he was saying about style。 He knew that she was looking 
at him; but whether with irritation or indifference he 
could not guess。 

In truth; she had fallen sufficiently into his trap to feel 
unfortably roused and disturbed and unable to proceed 
on the lines laid down for herself。 This indifferent; 
if not hostile; attitude on William’s part made it impos


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sible to break off without animosity; largely and pletely。 
Infinitely preferable was Mary’s state; she thought; 
where there was a simple thing to do and one did it。 In 
fact; she could not help supposing that some littleness 
of nature had a part in all the refinements; reserves; and 
subtleties of feeling for which her friends and family were 
so distinguished。 For example; although she liked 
Cassandra well enough; her fantastic method of life struck 
her as purely frivolous; now it was socialism; now it was 
silkworms; now it was music—which last she supposed 
was the cause of William’s sudden interest in her。 Never 
before had William wasted the minutes of her presence in 
writing his letters。 With a curious sense of light opening 
where all; hitherto; had been opaque; it dawned upon 
her that; after all; possibly; yes; probably; nay; certainly; 
the devotion which she had almost wearily taken for 
granted existed in a much slighter degree than she had 
suspected; or existed no longer。 She looked at him attentively 
as if this discovery of hers must show traces in his 
face。 Never had she seen so much to respect in his appearance; 
so much that attracted her by its sensitiveness 

and intelligence; although she saw these qualities as if 
they were those one responds to; dumbly; in the face of a 
stranger。 The head bent over the paper; thoughtful as 
usual; had now a posure which seemed somehow to 
place it at a distance; like a face seen talking to some 
one else behind glass。 

He wrote on; without raising his eyes。 She would have 
spoken; but could not bring herself to ask him for signs 
of affection which she had no right to claim。 The conviction 
that he was thus strange to her filled her with despondency; 
and illustrated quite beyond doubt the infinite 
loneliness of human beings。 She had never felt the 
truth of this so strongly before。 She looked away into the 
fire; it seemed to her that even physically they were now 
scarcely within speaking distance; and spiritually there 
was certainly no human being with whom she could claim 
radeship; no dream that satisfied her as she was used 
to be satisfied; nothing remained in whose reality she 
could believe; save those abstract ideas—figures; laws; 
stars; facts; which she could hardly hold to for lack of 
knowledge and a kind of shame。 

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