Mrs. Dalloway

he obviously did feel, instinctively, tremendously, strongly, all that;
the night; the romance; Clarissa. He deserved to have her.

For himself, he was absurd. His demands upon Clarissa (he could see
it now) were absurd. He asked impossible things. He made terrible
scenes. She would have accepted him still, perhaps, if he had been less
absurd. Sally thought so. She wrote him all that summer long letters;
how they had talked of him; how she had praised him, how Clarissa
burst into tears! It was an extraordinary summer--all letters, scenes,
telegrams--arriving at Bourton early in the morning, hanging about till
the servants were up; appalling _tête-à-têtes_ with old Mr. Parry at
breakfast; Aunt Helena formidable but kind; Sally sweeping him off for
talks in the vegetable garden; Clarissa in bed with headaches.

The final scene, the terrible scene which he believed had mattered
more than anything in the whole of his life (it might be an
exaggeration--but still so it did seem now) happened at three o’clock
in the afternoon of a very hot day. It was a trifle that led up to
it--Sally at lunch saying something about Dalloway, and calling him “My
name is Dalloway”; whereupon Clarissa suddenly stiffened, coloured,