Mrs. Dalloway E-Book

Virginia Woolf

• Herausgeber: Fermento
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

In 1923 in London, on a day in June, Clarissa Dalloway, wife of a member to the House of Lords, goes out to buy flowers for the party that will give that evening and will bring together in his beautiful house many important characters. As she walks, his memory back to events of a summer spent in the countryside many years before, when she was young and much courted.

Leseprobe

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© 2016 Fermento

February 2015

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ISBN 978-88-6997-273-7

Table of contents

Synopsis

Biographical notes

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

Synopsis

In 1923 in London, on a day in June, Clarissa Dalloway, wife of a member to the House of Lords, goes out to buy flowers for the party that will give that evening and will bring together in his beautiful house many important characters. As she walks, his memory back to events of a summer spent in the countryside many years before, when she was young and much courted.

Biographical notes

VIRGINIA WOOLF (1882-1941)

To know more: Virginia_Woolf

Virginia Woolf

I

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning—fresh as if issued to children on a beach.

What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen; looking at the flowers, at the trees with the smoke winding off them and the rooks rising, falling; standing and looking until Peter Walsh said, “Musing among the vegetables?”—was that it?—”I prefer men to cauliflowers”—was that it? He must have said it at breakfast one morning when she had gone out on to the terrace—Peter Walsh. He would be back from India one of these days, June or July, she forgot which, for his letters were awfully dull; it was his sayings one remembered; his eyes, his pocket-knife, his smile, his grumpiness and, when millions of things had utterly vanished—how strange it was!—a few sayings like this about cabbages.

She stiffened a little on the kerb, waiting for Durtnall’s van to pass. A charming woman, Scrope Purvis thought her (knowing her as one does know people who live next door to one in Westminster); a touch of the bird about her, of the jay, blue-green, light, vivacious, though she was over fifty, and grown very white since her illness. There she perched, never seeing him, waiting to cross, very upright.