Mrs. Dalloway

unknown purpose, and stands there longing to gallop away, Elizabeth
Dalloway sat silent. Was Miss Kilman going to say anything more?

“Don’t quite forget me,” said Doris Kilman; her voice quivered. Right
away to the end of the field the dumb creature galloped in terror.

The great hand opened and shut.

Elizabeth turned her head. The waitress came. One had to pay at the
desk, Elizabeth said, and went off, drawing out, so Miss Kilman felt,
the very entrails in her body, stretching them as she crossed the room,
and then, with a final twist, bowing her head very politely, she went.

She had gone. Miss Kilman sat at the marble table among the éclairs,
stricken once, twice, thrice by shocks of suffering. She had gone. Mrs.
Dalloway had triumphed. Elizabeth had gone. Beauty had gone, youth had
gone.

So she sat. She got up, blundered off among the little tables, rocking
slightly from side to side, and somebody came after her with her
petticoat, and she lost her way, and was hemmed in by trunks specially
prepared for taking to India; next got among the accouchement sets, and
baby linen; through all the commodities of the world, perishable and
permanent, hams, drugs, flowers, stationery, variously smelling, now