The sleeping politician was left in
Rachel's charge. She read a sentence, and took a look at him. In sleep
he looked like a coat hanging at the end of a bed; there were all the
wrinkles, and the sleeves and trousers kept their shape though no longer
filled out by legs and arms. You can then best judge the age and state
of the coat. She looked him all over until it seemed to her that he must
protest.
He was a man of forty perhaps; and here there were lines round his eyes,
and there curious clefts in his cheeks. Slightly battered he appeared,
but dogged and in the prime of life.
"Sisters and a dormouse and some canaries," Rachel murmured, never
taking her eyes off him. "I wonder, I wonder" she ceased, her chin upon
her hand, still looking at him. A bell chimed behind them, and Richard
raised his head. Then he opened his eyes which wore for a second the
queer look of a shortsighted person's whose spectacles are lost. It
took him a moment to recover from the impropriety of having snored, and
possibly grunted, before a young lady. To wake and find oneself left
alone with one was also slightly disconcerting.
"I suppose I've been dozing," he said. "What's happened to everyone?
Clarissa?"
"Mrs. Dalloway has gone to look at Mr. Grice's fish," Rachel replied.
"I might have guessed," said Richard. "It's a common occurrence. And how
have you improved the shining hour? Have you become a convert?"
"I don't think I've read a line," said Rachel.
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