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

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some one。” 

“At this time of night?” Cassandra exclaimed。 

“Whom have you got to see?” William demanded。 

“A friend;” she remarked; half turning her head towards 
him。 She knew that he wished her to stay; not; indeed; 
with them; but in their neighborhood; in case of need。 

“Katharine has a great many friends;” said William rather 
lamely; sitting down once more; as Katharine left the room。 

She was soon driving quickly; as she had wished to 
drive; through the lamplit streets。 She liked both light 
and speed; and the sense of being out of doors alone; 
and the knowledge that she would reach Mary in her high; 

lonely room at the end of the drive。 She climbed the 
stone steps quickly; remarking the queer look of her blue 
silk skirt and blue shoes upon the stone; dusty with the 
boots of the day; under the light of an occasional jet of 
flickering gas。 

The door was opened in a second by Mary herself; whose 
face showed not only surprise at the sight of her visitor; 
but some degree of embarrassment。 She greeted her cordially; 
and; as there was no time for explanations; 
Katharine walked straight into the sittingroom; and found 
herself in the presence of a young man who was lying 
back in a chair and holding a sheet of paper in his hand; 
at which he was looking as if he expected to go on immediately 
with what he was in the middle of saying to Mary 
Datchet。 The apparition of an unknown lady in full evening 
dress seemed to disturb him。 He took his pipe from his 
mouth; rose stiffly; and sat down again with a jerk。 

“Have you been dining out?” Mary asked。 

“Are you working?” Katharine inquired simultaneously。 

The young man shook his head; as if he disowned his 
share in the question with some irritation。 

308 



Virginia Woolf 

“Well; not exactly;” Mary replied。 “Mr。 Bast had 
brought some papers to show me。 We were going through 
them; but we’d almost done… 。 Tell us about your party。” 

Mary had a ruffled appearance; as if she had been running 
her fingers through her hair in the course of her 
conversation; she was dressed more or less like a Russian 
peasant girl。 She sat down again in a chair which looked 
as if it had been her seat for some hours; the saucer 
which stood upon the arm contained the ashes of many 
cigarettes。 Mr。 Bast; a very young man with a fresh 
plexion and a high forehead from which the hair was 
bed straight back; was one of that group of “very 
able young men” suspected by Mr。 Clacton; justly as it 
turned out; of an influence upon Mary Datchet。 He had 
e down from one of the Universities not long ago; 
and was now charged with the reformation of society。 In 
connection with the rest of the group of very able young 
men he had drawn up a scheme for the education of labor; 
for the amalgamation of the middle class and the 
working class; and for a joint assault of the two bodies; 
bined in the Society for the Education of Democracy; 

upon Capital。 The scheme had already reached the stage 
in which it was permissible to hire an office and engage 
a secretary; and he had been deputed to expound the 
scheme to Mary; and make her an offer of the Secretaryship; 
to which; as a matter of principle; a small salary 
was attached。 Since seven o’clock that evening he had 
been reading out loud the document in which the faith of 
the new reformers was expounded; but the reading was 
so frequently interrupted by discussion; and it was so 
often necessary to inform Mary “in strictest confidence” 
of the private characters and evil designs of certain individuals 
and societies that they were still only halfway 
through the manuscript。 Neither of them realized that 
the talk had already lasted three hours。 In their absorption 
they had forgotten even to feed the fire; and yet 
both Mr。 Bast in his exposition; and Mary in her interrogation; 
carefully preserved a kind of formality calculated 
to check the desire of the human mind for irrelevant 
discussion。 Her questions frequently began; “Am I 
to understand—” and his replies invariably represented 
the views of some one called “we。” 

309 



Night and Day 

By this time Mary was almost persuaded that she; too; 
was included in the “we;” and agreed with Mr。 Bast in 
believing that “our” views; “our” society; “our” policy; 
stood for something quite definitely segregated from the 
main body of society in a circle of superior illumination。 

The appearance of Katharine in this atmosphere was 
extremely incongruous; and had the effect of making Mary 
remember all sorts of things that she had been glad to 
forget。 

“You’ve been dining out?” she asked again; looking; 
with a little smile; at the blue silk and the pearlsewn 
shoes。 

“No; at home。 Are you starting something new?” 
Katharine hazarded; rather hesitatingly; looking at the 
papers。 

“We are;” Mr。 Bast replied。 He said no more。 

“I’m thinking of leaving our friends in Russell Square;” 
Mary explained。 

“I see。 And then you will do something else。” 

“Well; I’m afraid I like working;” said Mary。 

“Afraid;” said Mr。 Bast; conveying the impression 

that; in his opinion; no sensible person could be afraid 
of liking to work。 

“Yes;” said Katharine; as if he had stated this opinion 
aloud。 “I should like to start something—something off 
one’s own bat—that’s what I should like。” 

“Yes; that’s the fun;” said Mr。 Bast; looking at her 
for the first time rather keenly; and refilling his pipe。 

“But you can’t limit work—that’s what I mean;” said 
Mary。 “I mean there are other sorts of work。 No one works 
harder than a woman with little children。” 

“Quite so;” said Mr。 Bast。 “It’s precisely the women 
with babies we want to get hold of。” He glanced at his 
document; rolled it into a cylinder between his fingers; 
and gazed into the fire。 Katharine felt that in this pany 
anything that one said would be judged upon its 
merits; one had only to say what one thought; rather 
barely and tersely; with a curious assumption that the 
number of things that could properly b
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