Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken offtheir hinges umpelmayer’s men were coming. And then thought ClarissaDalloway what a morning—fresh as if issued to children on a beach.What a lark What a plunge For so it had always seemed to her whenwith a little squeak of the hinges which she could hear now she hadburst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air.How fresh how calm stiller than this of course the air was in theearly morning like the flap of a wave the kiss of a wave chill andsharp and yet for a girl of eighteen as she then was solemn feelingas she did standing there at the open window that something awfulwas about to happen looking at the flowers at the trees with the smokewinding off them and the rooks rising falling standing and lookinguntil Peter Walsh said “Musing among the vegetables”—was that it--“Iprefer men to cauliflowers”—was that it He must have said it atbreakfast one morning when she had gone out on to the terrace—PeterWalsh. He would be back from India one of these days June or Julyshe forgot which for his letters were awfully dull it was his sayingsone remembered his eyes his pocket-knife his smile his grumpinessand when millions of things had utterly vanished—how strange it was--afew sayings like this about cabbages.She stiffened a little on the kerb waiting for Durtnall’s van to pass.A charming woman Scrope Purvis thought her knowing her as one doesknow people who live next door to one in Westminster a touch of thebird about her of the jay blue-green light vivacious though shewas over fifty and grown very white since her illness. There she perchednever seeing him waiting to cross very upright.For having lived in Westminster—how many years now over twenty-- onefeels even in the midst of the traffic or waking at night Clarissawas positive a particular hush or solemnity an indescribable pausea suspense but that might be her