На маяк. Уровень 3 / To the Lighthouse

Anyway, she had known happiness, exquisite happiness, intense happiness. It silvered the rough waves a little more brightly, as daylight faded. The blue went out of the sea and it rolled in waves of pure lemon which curved and swelled and broke upon the beach. The ecstasy burst in her eyes and waves of pure delight raced over the floor of her mind and she felt, It is enough! It is enough!

He turned and saw her. Ah! She was lovely, lovelier now than ever he thought. But he could not speak to her. He could not interrupt her.

He wanted urgently to speak to her now. James was gone and she was alone at last. But he resolved, no. He won’t interrupt her. She was aloof from him now in her beauty, in her sadness. He passed her without a word, though it hurt him. She looked distant, and he could not reach her, he could do nothing to help her. And again he passed her without a word.

She called to him and took the green shawl off the picture frame, and went to him. For he wished, she knew, to protect her.

12

She folded the green shawl about her shoulders. She took his arm. She began to speak of Kennedy the gardener. His beauty was so great, she said, he was so awfully handsome, that she couldn’t dismiss him. There was a ladder against the greenhouse. Little lumps of putty stuck about. They were beginning to mend the greenhouse.

She strolled along with her husband. She had it on the tip of her tongue to say[14 - she had it on the tip of her tongue to say – у неё вертелось на языке], as they strolled, “It’ll cost fifty pounds”.

But instead she talked about Jasper who was shooting birds. He said, at once, that it was natural in a boy. He soothed her instantly. Her husband was so sensible, so just. And so she said, “Yes; all children go through stages[15 - all children go through stages – у всех детей переходный возраст],” and began considering the dahlias in the big bed. She was wondering about next year’s flowers. Had he heard the children’s nickname for Charles Tansley, she asked. The atheist, they called him, the little atheist.

“He’s not a polished specimen,” said Mr. Ramsay.

“Far from it,” said Mrs. Ramsay.

Mrs. Ramsay was wondering whether it was any use sending down bulbs; did they plant them?

“Oh, he has his dissertation to write,” said Mr. Ramsay.

She knew all about that, said Mrs. Ramsay. He talked of nothing else.