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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第47部分


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conclusion in her mind which finished the sum for the 

present; at least; she changed the focus of her eyes; and 
saw nothing but the stars。 

Tonight they seemed fixed with unusual firmness in 
the blue; and flashed back such a ripple of light into her 
eyes that she found herself thinking that tonight the 
stars were happy。 Without knowing or caring more for 
Church practices than most people of her age; Katharine 
could not look into the sky at Christmas time without 
feeling that; at this one season; the Heavens bend over 
the earth with sympathy; and signal with immortal radiance 
that they; too; take part in her festival。 Somehow; it 
seemed to her that they were even now beholding the 
procession of kings and wise men upon some road on a 
distant part of the earth。 And yet; after gazing for another 
second; the stars did their usual work upon the 
mind; froze to cinders the whole of our short human history; 
and reduced the human body to an apelike; furry 
form; crouching amid the brushwood of a barbarous clod 
of mud。 This stage was soon succeeded by another; in 
which there was nothing in the universe save stars and 
the light of stars; as she looked up the pupils of her eyes 

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Night and Day 

so dilated with starlight that the whole of her seemed 
dissolved in silver and spilt over the ledges of the stars 
for ever and ever indefinitely through space。 Somehow 
simultaneously; though incongruously; she was riding with 
the magnanimous hero upon the shore or under forest 
trees; and so might have continued were it not for the 
rebuke forcibly administered by the body; which; content 
with the normal conditions of life; in no way furthers any 
attempt on the part of the mind to alter them。 She grew 
cold; shook herself; rose; and walked towards the house。 

By the light of the stars; Stogdon House looked pale 
and romantic; and about twice its natural size。 Built by a 
retired admiral in the early years of the nieenth century; 
the curving bow windows of the front; now filled 
with reddishyellow light; suggested a portly threedecker; 
sailing seas where those dolphins and narwhals who disport 
themselves upon the edges of old maps were scattered 
with an impartial hand。 A semicircular flight of shallow 
steps led to a very large door; which Katharine had 
left ajar。 She hesitated; cast her eyes over the front of 
the house; marked that a light burnt in one small window 

upon an upper floor; and pushed the door open。 For a 
moment she stood in the square hall; among many horned 
skulls; sallow globes; cracked oilpaintings; and stuffed 
owls; hesitating; it seemed; whether she should open the 
door on her right; through which the stir of life reached 
her ears。 Listening for a moment; she heard a sound which 
decided her; apparently; not to enter; her uncle; Sir Francis; 
was playing his nightly game of whist; it appeared probable 
that he was losing。 

She went up the curving stairway; which represented 
the one attempt at ceremony in the otherwise rather dilapidated 
mansion; and down a narrow passage until she 
came to the room whose light she had seen from the 
garden。 Knocking; she was told to e in。 A young man; 
Henry Otway; was reading; with his feet on the fender。 
He had a fine head; the brow arched in the Elizabethan 
manner; but the gentle; honest eyes were rather skeptical 
than glowing with the Elizabethan vigor。 He gave the 
impression that he had not yet found the cause which 
suited his temperament。 

He turned; put down his book; and looked at her。 He 

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Virginia Woolf 

noticed her rather pale; dewdrenched look; as of one 
whose mind is not altogether settled in the body。 He had 
often laid his difficulties before her; and guessed; in some 
ways hoped; that perhaps she now had need of him。 At 
the same time; she carried on her life with such independence 
that he scarcely expected any confidence to be 
expressed in words。 

“You have fled; too; then?” he said; looking at her cloak。 
Katharine had forgotten to remove this token of her stargazing。 


“Fled?” she asked。 “From whom d’you mean? Oh; the 
family party。 Yes; it was hot down there; so I went into 
the garden。” 

“And aren’t you very cold?” Henry inquired; placing coal 
on the fire; drawing a chair up to the grate; and laying 
aside her cloak。 Her indifference to such details often 
forced Henry to act the part generally taken by women in 
such dealings。 It was one of the ties between them。 

“Thank you; Henry;” she said。 “I’m not disturbing you?” 

“I’m not here。 I’m at Bungay;” he replied。 “I’m giving a 
music lesson to Harold and Julia。 That was why I had to 

leave the table with the ladies—I’m spending the night 
there; and I shan’t be back till late on Christmas Eve。” 

“How I wish—” Katharine began; and stopped short。 “I 
think these parties are a great mistake;” she added briefly; 
and sighed。 

“Oh; horrible!” he agreed; and they both fell silent。 

Her sigh made him look at her。 Should he venture to 
ask her why she sighed? Was her reticence about her own 
affairs as inviolable as it had often been convenient for 
rather an egoistical young man to think it? But since her 
engagement to Rodney; Henry’s feeling towards her had 
bee rather plex; equally divided between an impulse 
to hurt her and an impulse to be tender to her; and 
all the time he suffered a curious irritation from the sense 
that she was drifting away from him for ever upon unknown 
seas。 On her side; directly Katharine got into his 
presence; and the sense of the stars dropped from her; 
she knew that any intercourse between people is extremely 
partial; from the whole mass of her feelings; only one or 
two could be selected for Henry’s inspection; and therefore 
she sighed。 Then she looked at him; and their eyes 

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Night and Day 

meeting; much more seemed to be in mon between them 
than had appeared possible。 At any rate they had a grandfather 
in mon; at any rate there was a kind of loyalty 
between them sometimes found between relations who have 
no other cause to like each other; as these two had。 

“Well; what’s the date of the wedding?” said Henry; the 
malicious mood now predominating。 

“I think some time in March;” she replied。 

“And afterwards?” he asked。 

“We take a house; I suppose; somewhere in Chelsea。” 

“It’s very interesting;” he observed; stealing another 
look at her。 

She lay back in her armchair; her feet high upon the 
side of the grate; and in front of her; presumably to screen 
her eyes; she held a newspaper from which she picked up 
a sentence or two now and again。 Observing this; Henry 
remarked: 

“Perhaps marriage will make you more human。” 

At this she lowered the newspaper an inch or two; but 
said nothing。 Indeed; she sat quite silent for over a 
minute。 

“When you consider things like the stars; our affairs 
don’t seem to matter very much; do they?” she said suddenly。 


“I don’t think I ever do consider things like the stars;” 
Henry replied。 “I’m not sure that that’s not the explanation; 
though;” he added; now observing her steadily。 

“I doubt whether there is an explanation;” she replied 
rather hurriedly; not clearly understanding what he meant。 

“What? No explanation of anything?” he inquired; with 
a smile。 

“Oh; things happen。 That’s about all;” she let drop in 
her casual; decided way。 

“That certainly seems to explain some of your actions;” 
Henry thought to himself。 

“One thing’s about as good as another; and one’s got to 
do something;” he said aloud; expressing what he supposed 
to be her attitude; much in her accent。 Perhaps 
she detected the imitation; for looking gently at him; 
she said; with ironical posure: 

“Well; if you believe that your life must be simple; 
Henry。” 

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Virginia Woolf 

“But I don’t believe it;” he said shortly。 

“No more do I;” she replied。 

“What about the stars?” he asked a moment later。 “I 
understand that you rule your life by the stars?” 

She let this pass; either 

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