"One might fancy that day,
the London day, was just beginning. Like a woman who had slipped off
her print dress and white apron to array herself in blue and pearls,
the day changed, put offstuff, took gauze, changed
to evening, and with the same sigh of exhilaration that a woman
breathes, tumbling petticoats on the floor, it too shed dust, heat,
colour; the traffic thinned; motor cars, tinkling, darting, succeeded
the lumber of vans; and here and there among the thick foliage of the
squares an intense light hung. I resign, the evening seemed to say,
as it paled and faded above the battlements and prominences, moulded,
pointed, of hotel, flat, and block of shops, I fade, she was
beginning, I disappear, but London would have none of it, and rushed
her bayonets into the sky, pinioned her, constrained her to
partnership in her revelry."
Virginia Woolf
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