MRS DALLOWAY IN BOND STREET BY VIRGINIA WOOLF THE DIAL [Illustration] VOLUME LXXV _July to December, 1923_ THE DIAL PUBLISHING COMPANY MRS DALLOWAY IN BOND STREET BY VIRGINIA WOOLF Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the gloves herself. Big Ben was striking as she stepped out into the street. It was eleven o'clock and the unused hour was fresh as if issued to children on a beach. But there was something solemn in the deliberate swing of the repeated strokes; something stirring in the murmur of wheels and the shuffle of footsteps. No doubt they were not all bound on errands of happiness. There is much more to be said about us than that we walk the streets of Westminster. Big Ben too is nothing but steel rods consumed by rust were it not for the care of H. M.'s Office of Works. Only for Mrs Dalloway the moment was complete; for Mrs Dalloway June was fresh. A happy childhood--and it was not to his daughters only that Justin Parry had seemed a fine fellow (weak of course on the Bench); flowers at evening, smoke rising; the caw of rooks falling from ever so high, down down through the October air--there is nothing to take the place of childhood. A leaf of mint brings it back; or a cup with a blue ring. Poor little wretches, she sighed, and pressed forward. Oh, right under the horses' noses, you little demon! and there she was left on the kerb stretching her hand out, while Jimmy Dawes grinned on the further side. A charming woman, poised, eager, strangely white-haired for her pink cheeks, so Scope Purvis, C. B., saw her as he hurried to his office. She stiffened a little, waiting for Durtnall's van to pass. Big Ben struck the tenth; struck the eleventh stroke. The leaden circles dissolved in the air. Pride held her erect, inheriting, handing on, acquainted with discipline and with suffering. How people suffered, how they suffered, she thought, thinking of Mrs Foxcroft at the Embassy last night decked with jewels, eating her heart out, because that nice boy was dead, and now the old Manor House (Durtnall's van passed) must go to a cousin. "Good morning to you!" said Hugh Whitbread raising his hat rather extravagantly by the china shop, for they had known each other as children. "Where are you off to?" "I love walking in London" said Mrs Dalloway. "Really it's better than walking in the country!" "We've just come up" said Hugh Whitbread. "Unfortunately to see doctors." "Milly?" said Mrs Dalloway, instantly compassionate. "Out of sorts," said Hugh Whitbread. "That sort of thing. Dick all right?" "First rate!" said Clarissa.