Full text: Mrs. Dalloway

MRS. DALLOWAY 
embarrassment coming over him, though he had kissed 
her hands. Putting his hand into his pocket, he took 
out a large pocket-knife and half opened the blade. 
Exactly the same, thought Clarissa; the same queer 
look; the same check suit; a little out of the straight his 
face is, a little thinner, dryer, perhaps, but he looks 
awfully well, and just the same. 
“How heavenly it is to see you again!” she ex- 
claimed. He had his knife out. That’s so like him, she 
thought. 
He had only reached town last night, he said; would 
have to go down into the country at once; and how was 
everything, how was everybody—Richard ? Elizabeth? 
“And what’s all this?” he said, tilting his pen-knife 
towards her green dress. 
He’s very well dressed, thought Clarissa; yet he 
always criticises me. 
Here she is mending her dress; mending her dress as 
usual, he thought; here she’s been sitting all the time 
I’ve been in India; mending her dress; playing about; 
going to parties; running to the House and back and 
all that, he thought, growing more and more irritated, 
more and more agitated, for there’s nothing in the 
world so bad for some women as marriage, he thought; 
and politics; and having a Conservative husband, like 
the admirable Richard. So it is, so it is, he thought, 
shutting his knife with a snap. 
“Richard’s very well. Richard’s at a Committee,” 
said Clarissa. 
And she opened her scissors, and said, did he mind 
her just finishing what she was doing to her dress, for 
they had a party that night? 
“Which I shan’t ask you to,” she said. “My dear 
Peter!” she said. 
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