Mrs Dalloway Page #6

I don't know. I don't know.| I didn't know she'd been ill.

Stop worrying, Peter.

He threw himself out of the window | and impaled himself on the railings.

Up flashed the ground | and through him ...

blundering and bruising | went the rusty spikes ...

and there he lay with a tut... tut! tut!|in his brain.

and then | a suffocation of blackness.

Why? Why did he do it?

Why did the Bradshaws talked | of it at my party?

He's thrown it all away. His life. | Just like that.

I once throw a shelling | into the serpentine.

But his thrown his life away.

You were going to write, | I remember.

Have you written anything?

Not a word.

Not a solitary word.

But then he will| always stay young.

All day long I've been thinking |of Bordon, of Peter and Sally.

We've grown old.

We'll grow older.

Have I lost the thing| that mattered?

Let it get obscured, | gradually...

every day in corruption, | lies and chatter?

Do you remember the night | we went boating on the lake?

Yes, I remember thinking: | "She's abandoned me."

And then, all of the sudden, she was there, |with her hand stretched out ...

looking utterly beautiful, saying: | "Come on, come on.

They're all waiting. "

Why wouldn't she marry me, | Sally?

She was afraid.

Your parents just handed to you, | LIFE...

to be lived right through to the end.

We must walk it |serenely.

But in the depths of my heart, | there's been an awful fear ...

sometimes that | I couldn't go on ...

without Richard, sitting there|calmly reading the Times ...

while I crouched like a bird|and gradually revived.

I might have perished.

I looked across the room | and wondered - "Who's that lovely girl?"

And then I realized: | "That's my daughter."

Maybe she needed someone| who found life simple.

She certainly cared for you, | more than she cared for Richard.

Oh, my life isn't simple.

My relationship with her| wasn't simple.

She broke my heart.

And you can't love like that | twice.

What makes us go on?

What sends roaring | up in us ...

that immeasurable delight| to surprise us?

Than nothing can be |slow enough...

nothing lasts to long.

You want to say to each moment: | "Stay!" "Stay!"

"Stay!"

I cherrish the friendship| I had with Clarissa.

There was something pure about her.

She had such charm, | such generosity.

I can see her to this day, going | bye the house all in white.

She always seemed to be in white |and her arms were full of flowers.

And I wondered ...

does absence really matter?

Does distance?

You'll think me sentimental | and so I am ...

but I've come to believe that the only | thing worth saying is what you really feel.

But I don't know what I feel.

I know that I loved her once | and that it stayed with me all my life ...

and colored everything.

I must go back to my party. |To Sally and Peter.

That young man killed himself, | but I don't pity him.

I'm somehow glad he could do it, |throw it away.

It's made me feel the beauty, | somehow feel ...

very like him, less afraid.

I have to go.

Do you think he's made her happy? | Who can tell, Peter?

All our relationships are | just scratches on the surface.

We tought he wasn't | very bright.

But what does the brain matter?

Compared to the heart.

There you are.

Peter and Sally haven't left, have they? | Don't know.

Clarissa!

I couldn't leave without |saying goodbye.

And you can't leave, | until you danced with me.

Peter's in the library.

Here I am, at last.

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