"A fault of the skin," said the grey-headed woman hurriedly. "Sometimes a drop of acid in tanning. Try this pair, Madame." "But it's an awful swindle to ask two pound ten!" Clarissa looked at the lady; the lady looked at Clarissa. "Gloves have never been quite so reliable since the war" said the shop-girl, apologizing, to Clarissa. But where had she seen the other lady?--elderly, with a frill under her chin; wearing a black ribbon for gold eyeglasses; sensual, clever, like a Sargent drawing. How one can tell from a voice when people are in the habit, thought Clarissa, of making other people--"It's a shade too tight" she said--obey. The shopwoman went off again. Clarissa was left waiting. Fear no more she repeated, playing her finger on the counter. Fear no more the heat o' the sun. Fear no more she repeated. There were little brown spots on her arm. And the girl crawled like a snail. Thou thy wordly task hast done. Thousands of young men had died that things might go on. At last! Half an inch above the elbow; pearl buttons; five and a quarter. My dear slow coach, thought Clarissa, do you think I can sit here the whole morning? Now you'll take twenty-five minutes to bring me my change! There was a violent explosion in the street outside. The shopwomen cowered behind the counters. But Clarissa, sitting very up-right, smiled at the other lady. "Miss Anstruther!" she exclaimed. End of Project Gutenberg's Mrs Dalloway in Bond Street, by Virginia Woolf