The waves

Woolf, Virginia

Bibliographic data

Collection Object

Persistent identifier:: 1587378836253

Title:: The waves

Author:: Woolf, Virginia

Publisher:: The Hogarth Press

Place of publication:: London

Year of publication:: 1963

Extent:: 211 S.

Language:: english

Structure type:: Monograph

Physical location:: Bibliohtek der Institut für Linguistik und Literaturwissenschaft, Universität Stuttgart

Shelfmark:: VEN7--WOO2/29

License:: https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/deed.de

Collection Object

Title:: The Waves

Structure type:: Chapter

THE WAVES damp now, now dry. He leaves me in the lurch; he follows Susan; and if Susan cries he will take my knife and tell her stories. The big blade is an emperor; the broken blade a Negro. I hate dangling things; I hate dampish things. I hate wandering and mixing things together. Now the bell rings and we shall be late. Now we must drop our toys. Now we must go in together. The copy-books are laid out side by side on the green baize table.” “1 will not conjugate the verb,” said Louis, ‘ until Bernard has said it. My father is a banker in Brisbane and I speak with an Australian accent. I will wait and copy Bernard. He is English. They are all English. Susan’s father is a clergyman. Rhoda has no father. Bernard and Neville are the sons of gentlemen. Jinny lives with her grandmother in London. Now they suck their pens. Now they twist their copy-books, and, looking sideways at Miss Hudson, count the purple buttons on her bodice. Bernard has a chip in his hair. Susan has a red look in her eyes. Both ate flushed. But Iam pale; Iam neat, and my knicker- bockers are drawn together by a belt with a brass snake. I know the lesson by heart. I know more than they will ever know. I know my cases and my genders; I could know everything in the world if I wished. But I do not wish to come to the top and say my lesson. My roots are threaded, like fibres in a flower-pot, round and round about the world. I do not wish to come to the top and live in the light of this great clock, yellow-faced, which ticks and ticks. Jinny and Susan, Bernard and Neville bind them- selves into a thong with which to lash me. They laugh at my neatness, at my Australian accent. I will pow try to imitate Bernard softly lisping Latin.” “ Those are white words,” said Susan, “like stones one picks up by the seashore.” “ They flick their tails right and left as I speak them,” said Bernard. “ They wag their tails ; they flick their tails ; they move through the air in flocks, now this way, now that | A

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