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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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every one’s noticed it; why should we go on pretending? 
When I told you I loved you; I was wrong。 I said what I 
knew to be untrue。” 

As none of her words seemed to her at all adequate to 
represent what she felt; she repeated them; and emphasized 
them without realizing the effect that they might 
have upon a man who cared for her。 She was pletely 
taken aback by finding her arm suddenly dropped; then 
she saw his face most strangely contorted; was he laughing; 
it flashed across her? In another moment she saw 
that he was in tears。 In her bewilderment at this apparition 
she stood aghast for a second。 With a desperate 

sense that this horror must; at all costs; be stopped; she 
then put her arms about him; drew his head for a moment 
upon her shoulder; and led him on; murmuring words of 
consolation; until he heaved a great sigh。 They held fast 
to each other; her tears; too; ran down her cheeks; and 
were both quite silent。 Noticing the difficulty with which 
he walked; and feeling the same extreme lassitude in her 
own limbs; she proposed that they should rest for a moment 
where the bracken was brown and shriveled beneath 
an oaktree。 He assented。 Once more he gave a 
great sigh; and wiped his eyes with a childlike unconsciousness; 
and began to speak without a trace of his 
previous anger。 The idea came to her that they were like 
the children in the fairy tale who were lost in a wood; 
and with this in her mind she noticed the scattering of 
dead leaves all round them which had been blown by the 
wind into heaps; a foot or two deep; here and there。 

“When did you begin to feel this; Katharine?” he said; 
“for it isn’t true to say that you’ve always felt it。 I admit 
I was unreasonable the first night when you found that 
your clothes had been left behind。 Still; where’s the fault 

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Night and Day 

in that? I could promise you never to interfere with your 
clothes again。 I admit I was cross when I found you upstairs 
with Henry。 Perhaps I showed it too openly。 But 
that’s not unreasonable either when one’s engaged。 Ask 
your mother。 And now this terrible thing—” He broke off; 
unable for the moment to proceed any further。 “This decision 
you say you’ve e to—have you discussed it 
with any one? Your mother; for example; or Henry?” 

“No; no; of course not;” she said; stirring the leaves with 
her hand。 “But you don’t understand me; William—” 

“Help me to understand you—” 

“You don’t understand; I mean; my real feelings; how 
could you? I’ve only now faced them myself。 But I haven’t 
got the sort of feeling—love; I mean—I don’t know what 
to call it”—she looked vaguely towards the horizon sunk 
under mist—”but; anyhow; without it our marriage would 
be a farce—” 

“How a farce?” he asked。 “But this kind of analysis is 
disastrous!” he exclaimed。 

“I should have done it before;” she said gloomily。 

“You make yourself think things you don’t think;” he 

continued; being demonstrative with his hands; as 
his manner was。 “Believe me; Katharine; before we came 
here we were perfectly happy。 You were full of plans for 
our house—the chaircovers; don’t you remember?—like 
any other woman who is about to be married。 Now; for no 
reason whatever; you begin to fret about your feeling 
and about my feeling; with the usual result。 I assure you; 
Katharine; I’ve been through it all myself。 At one time I 
was always asking myself absurd questions which came 
to nothing either。 What you want; if I may say so; is 
some occupation to take you out of yourself when this 
morbid mood es on。 If it hadn’t been for my poetry; I 
assure you; I should often have been very much in the 
same state myself。 To let you into a secret;” he continued; 
with his little chuckle; which now sounded almost 
assured; “I’ve often gone home from seeing you in such a 
state of nerves that I had to force myself to write a page 
or two before I could get you out of my head。 Ask Denham; 
he’ll tell you how he met me one night; he’ll tell you what 
a state he found me in。” 

Katharine started with displeasure at the mention of 

210 



Virginia Woolf 

Ralph’s name。 The thought of the conversation in which 
her conduct had been made a subject for discussion with 
Denham roused her anger; but; as she instantly felt; she 
had scarcely the right to grudge William any use of her 
name; seeing what her fault against him had been from 
first to last。 And yet Denham! She had a view of him as a 
judge。 She figured him sternly weighing instances of her 
levity in this masculine court of inquiry into feminine 
morality and gruffly dismissing both her and her family 
with some halfsarcastic; halftolerant phrase which sealed 
her doom; as far as he was concerned; for ever。 Having 
met him so lately; the sense of his character was strong 
in her。 The thought was not a pleasant one for a proud 
woman; but she had yet to learn the art of subduing her 
expression。 Her eyes fixed upon the ground; her brows 
drawn together; gave William a very fair picture of the 
resentment that she was forcing herself to control。 A certain 
degree of apprehension; occasionally culminating in 
a kind of fear; had always entered into his love for her; 
and had increased; rather to his surprise; in the greater 
intimacy of their engagement。 Beneath her steady; ex


emplary surface ran a vein of passion which seemed to 
him now perverse; now pletely irrational; for it never 
took the normal channel of glorification of him and his 
doings; and; indeed; he almost preferred the steady good 
sense; which had always marked their relationship; to a 
more romantic bond。 But passion she had; he could not 
deny it; and hitherto he had tried to see it employed in 
his thoughts upon the lives of the children who were to 
be born to them。 

“She will make a perfect mother—a mother of sons;” 
he thought; but seeing her sitting there; gloomy and silent; 
he began to have his doubts on this point。 “A farce; 
a farce;” he thought to himself。 “She said that our marriage 
would be a farce;” and he becam
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