Mrs. Dalloway

too cold, he thought; sewing, with her scissors; Daisy would look
ordinary beside Clarissa. And she would think me a failure, which I am
in their sense, he thought; in the Dalloways’ sense. Oh yes, he had no
doubt about that; he was a failure, compared with all this--the inlaid
table, the mounted paper-knife, the dolphin and the candlesticks,
the chair-covers and the old valuable English tinted prints--he was
a failure! I detest the smugness of the whole affair he thought;
Richard’s doing, not Clarissa’s; save that she married him. (Here
Lucy came into the room, carrying silver, more silver, but charming,
slender, graceful she looked, he thought, as she stooped to put it
down.) And this has been going on all the time! he thought; week after
week; Clarissa’s life; while I--he thought; and at once everything
seemed to radiate from him; journeys; rides; quarrels; adventures;
bridge parties; love affairs; work; work, work! and he took out his
knife quite openly--his old horn-handled knife which Clarissa could
swear he had had these thirty years--and clenched his fist upon it.

What an extraordinary habit that was, Clarissa thought; always playing
with a knife. Always making one feel, too, frivolous; empty-minded;