Mrs. Dalloway

Clarissa? Does Richard--”

The door opened.

“Here is my Elizabeth,” said Clarissa, emotionally, histrionically,
perhaps.

“How d’y do?” said Elizabeth coming forward.

The sound of Big Ben striking the half-hour struck out between them
with extraordinary vigour, as if a young man, strong, indifferent,
inconsiderate, were swinging dumb-bells this way and that.

“Hullo, Elizabeth!” cried Peter, stuffing his handkerchief into his
pocket, going quickly to her, saying “Good-bye, Clarissa” without
looking at her, leaving the room quickly, and running downstairs and
opening the hall door.

“Peter! Peter!” cried Clarissa, following him out on to the landing.
“My party to-night! Remember my party to-night!” she cried, having to
raise her voice against the roar of the open air, and, overwhelmed by
the traffic and the sound of all the clocks striking, her voice crying
“Remember my party to-night!” sounded frail and thin and very far away
as Peter Walsh shut the door.

       *       *       *       *       *

Remember my party, remember my party, said Peter Walsh as he stepped
down the street, speaking to himself rhythmically, in time with the
flow of the sound, the direct downright sound of Big Ben striking