Mrs Dalloway

Evans!

Don't come!

LONDON, June 13, 1923

Those ruffians dead Gods|shan't have it all their own way.

Those gods who never lose |a chance of hurting, foughting ...

and spoiling human lives ...

are seriously put out|if all the same, you behave like a lady.

Of course, now I think there are no | Gods and there's no one to blame.

It's so very dangerous to live | for only one day.

I buy the flowers myself, Lucy. | Yes, ma'am.

And Mrs Walker |said not to forget that

Rumplemayers's men| will be here at eleven.

I won't forget.

Oh, what a day, Lucy! |What a day for my party.

What a luck!

What a plunge!

What a plunge!

Good morning to you, Clarissa. | Hugh!

And where are you off to? | To buy flowers for my party.

I love walking in London on a day|like this. It's better that in the country.

Evelyn wouldn't agree with you there. | She can't bear coming out to town.

I had to get her to come up to see W. Bud.

He's putting her in a nursing home, | for a few days.

Nothing serious?

No, nothing serious. She's just a good deal |out of salts.

The war may be over, | but there is still the echoe of it.

The Boxborough boy| was killed, you know ...

and she is very close|to Lady Boxborough.

And Evelyn takes things badly.

Yes, one does still hear dreadful stories.

I must get on. The'll be waiting for this, | at the palace.

Will you still come to my party tonight?

Oh, yes! Evelyn absolutly insists I go.

Hugh Whitbread. I can forgive you | liking him, Clarissa.

He's a buffon. Even when he plays tennis, | his hair doesn't move.

He's a barbers block. An imbecil. |He thinks of nothing but his clothes.

I like him.

How can you? He's never read anything. |Never thought anything.

Never felt anything!

Stabel boys are more likeable than|Hugh.

Sally says | he tried to kiss her in the smoking-room.

Oh! | She didn't let him? She rather die first.

Good for Sally. She sees through that | public school nonsense.

Old manners and breeding.

No country but England | could have produced Hugh.

He is sweet and unselfish | and he's very good to his mother.

You're so sentimental, Clarissa!

And you're impossible!

Oh, what beautiful flowers! |That's absolutly wonderful, Sally.

Oh, I thought Sally could be trusted |to do the flowers.

That's wicked. To cut off the heads | of those flowers. Really...

I think they're beautiful.

Peter, look at the flowers.

Yes.

Roses for the hall, I think.

And sweet peas for the table, | perhaps?

Yes! Sweet pea to the table. | It will be perfect!

Those awful motorcars.

Yes | Of course, it was a car.

- I'm loose it here. | - Septimus, please. We must go on.

I'm loose it here, |and I don't know with what purpose.

Septimus, please, poeple are looking at us. |Am I blocking the way?

Allright, then.

Bye, Mrs. Dalloway.

Mrs. Dalloway, Mrs. Dalloway. | I'm not even Clarissa anymore.

No more marrying, no more having children. |Just Mrs. Dalloway.

Mrs. Richard Dalloway, |who's to give a party.

You'll marry| a prime minister ...

and stand | at the top of the staircase.

Who'll give parties. |You'll be the perfect hostess.

You have the makings | of a perfect hostess.

You could do so much, | be so much.

What you want me to be?

Life seems to me to be very dangerous.

But one must live life |dangerously!

Look! Look, Septimus!

Is no crime.

There is no death.

The birds are singing in Greek.

The whole world is clamouring. | "Kill yourself!" "Kill yourself!"

Septimus, I'm going to walk to the lake and back.

"Kreemo". It says "Kreemo".

-So revigorating. | - I know what you meen.

The bushies, the flowers. |So well kept.

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