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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第109部分


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at the lamp again; another love burnt in the place of the 
old one; or so; in a momentary glance of amazement; she 

guessed before the revelation was over and the old surroundings 
asserted themselves。 She leant in silence against 
the mantelpiece。 

“There are different ways of loving;” she murmured; half 
to herself; at length。 

Katharine made no reply and seemed unaware of her 
words。 She seemed absorbed in her own thoughts。 

“Perhaps he’s waiting in the street again tonight;” she 
exclaimed。 “I’ll go now。 I might find him。” 

“It’s far more likely that he’ll e here;” said Mary; 
and Katharine; after considering for a moment; said: 

“I’ll wait another halfhour。” 

She sank down into her chair again; and took up the 
same position which Mary had pared to the position 
of one watching an unseeing face。 She watched; indeed; 
not a face; but a procession; not of people; but of life 
itself: the good and bad; the meaning; the past; the 
present; and the future。 All this seemed apparent to her; 
and she was not ashamed of her extravagance so much as 
exalted to one of the pinnacles of existence; where it 
behoved the world to do her homage。 No one but she 

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Night and Day 

herself knew what it meant to miss Ralph Denham on 
that particular night; into this inadequate event crowded 
feelings that the great crises of life might have failed to 
call forth。 She had missed him; and knew the bitterness 
of all failure; she desired him; and knew the torment of 
all passion。 It did not matter what trivial accidents led to 
this culmination。 Nor did she care how extravagant she 
appeared; nor how openly she showed her feelings。 

When the dinner was ready Mary told her to e; and 
she came submissively; as if she let Mary direct her movements 
for her。 They ate and drank together almost in 
silence; and when Mary told her to eat more; she ate 
more; when she was told to drink wine; she drank it。 
Nevertheless; beneath this superficial obedience; Mary 
knew that she was following her own thoughts unhindered。 
She was not inattentive so much as remote; she 
looked at once so unseeing and so intent upon some 
vision of her own that Mary gradually felt more than protective—
she became actually alarmed at the prospect of 
some collision between Katharine and the forces of the 
outside world。 Directly they had done; Katharine an


nounced her intention of going。 

“But where are you going to?” Mary asked; desiring 
vaguely to hinder her。 

“Oh; I’m going home—no; to Highgate perhaps。” 

Mary saw that it would be useless to try to stop her。 All 
she could do was to insist upon ing too; but she met 
with no opposition; Katharine seemed indifferent to her 
presence。 In a few minutes they were walking along the 
Strand。 They walked so rapidly that Mary was deluded 
into the belief that Katharine knew where she was going。 
She herself was not attentive。 She was glad of the movement 
along lamplit streets in the open air。 She was fingering; 
painfully and with fear; yet with strange hope; 
too; the discovery which she had stumbled upon unexpectedly 
that night。 She was free once more at the cost 
of a gift; the best; perhaps; that she could offer; but she 
was; thank Heaven; in love no longer。 She was tempted 
to spend the first instalment of her freedom in some dissipation; 
in the pit of the Coliseum; for example; since 
they were now passing the door。 Why not go in and celebrate 
her independence of the tyranny of love? Or; per


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Virginia Woolf 

haps; the top of an omnibus bound for some remote place 
such as Camberwell; or Sidcup; or the Welsh Harp would 
suit her better。 She noticed these names painted on little 
boards for the first time for weeks。 Or should she return 
to her room; and spend the night working out the details 
of a very enlightened and ingenious scheme? Of all possibilities 
this appealed to her most; and brought to mind 
the fire; the lamplight; the steady glow which had seemed 
lit in the place where a more passionate flame had once 
burnt。 

Now Katharine stopped; and Mary woke to the fact that 
instead of having a goal she had evidently none。 She 
paused at the edge of the crossing; and looked this way 
and that; and finally made as if in the direction of 
Haverstock Hill。 

“Look here—where are you going?” Mary cried; catching 
her by the hand。 “We must take that cab and go home。” 
She hailed a cab and insisted that Katharine should get in; 
while she directed the driver to take them to Cheyne Walk。 

Katharine submitted。 “Very well;” she said。 “We may as 
well go there as anywhere else。” 

A gloom seemed to have fallen on her。 She lay back in 
her corner; silent and apparently exhausted。 Mary; in spite 
of her own preoccupation; was struck by her pallor and 
her attitude of dejection。 

“I’m sure we shall find him;” she said more gently than 
she had yet spoken。 

“It may be too late;” Katharine replied。 Without understanding 
her; Mary began to pity her for what she was 
suffering。 

“Nonsense;” she said; taking her hand and rubbing it。 
“If we don’t find him there we shall find him somewhere 
else。” 

“But suppose he’s walking about the streets—for hours 
and hours?” 

She leant forward and looked out of the window。 

“He may refuse ever to speak to me again;” she said in 
a low voice; almost to herself。 

The exaggeration was so immense that Mary did not 
attempt to cope with it; save by keeping hold of 
Katharine’s wrist。 She half expected that Katharine might 
open the door suddenly and jump out。 Perhaps Katharine 

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Night and Day 

perceived the purpose with which her hand was held。 

“Don’t be frightened;” she said; with a little laugh。 “I’m 
not going to jump out of the cab。 It wouldn’t do much 
good after all。” 

Upon this; Mary ostentatiously withdrew her hand。 

“I ought to have apologized;” Katharine continued; with 
an effort; “for bringing you into all this business; I haven’t 
told you half; either。 I’m no longer engaged to William 
Rodney。 He is to marry Cassandra Otway。 It’s all arranged— 
all perfectly right… 。 And after he’d waited in the streets 
for hours and hours; William made me bring him in。 He 
was standing under the lamppost watching our windows。 
He was perfectly white when he came into the room。 
William left us alone; and we sat and talked。 It seems 
ages and ages ago; now。 Was it last night? Have I been 
out long? What’s the time?” She sprang forward to catch 
sight of a clock; as if the exact time had some important 
bearing on her case。 

“Only halfpast eight!” she exclaimed。 “Then he may be 
there still。” She leant out of the window and told the 
cabman to drive faster。 

“But if he’s not there; what shall I do? Where could I 
find him? The streets are so crowded。” 

“We shall find him;” Mary repeated。 

Mary had no doubt but that somehow or other they would 
find him。 But suppose they did find him? She began to 
think of Ralph with a sort of strangeness; in her effort to 
understand how he could be capable of satisfying this extraordinary 
desire。 Once more she thought herself back to 
her old view of him and could; with an effort; recall the 
haze which surrounded his figure; and the sense of confused; 
heightened exhilaration which lay all about his neighborhood; 
so that for months at a time she had never exactly 
heard his voice or seen his face—or so it now seemed 
to her。 The pain of her loss shot through her。 Nothing 
would ever make up—not success; or happiness; or oblivion。 
But this pang was immediately followed by the assurance 
that now; at any rate; she knew the truth; and Katharine; 
she thought; stealing a look at her; did not know the truth; 
yes; Katharine was immensely to be pitied。 

The cab; which had been caught in the traffic; was now 
liberated and sped on down Sloane Street。 Mary was con


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Virginia Woolf 

scious of the tension with which Katharine marked its 
progress; as if her mind were fixed upon a point in front 
of them; and marked; second by 

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