Yes, that is her name, they call her that in the long halls of her house in Harlem. But of course, there are more houses than that because that simply would not do.
Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers, but they were for the tea. Edible flowers you see ( It gave her something to look at whilst she drank.) For she was hard to handle, but to handle nerves she would get a cup of tea. Tea with crumpets and biscuits (it was the rave ) especially a nice cup of sweet smooth and herbal Elder Gray for Mrs. Dalloway. What a fresh and blissful day with the shine that rises each morning. The warmest greetings to the new day in June.
The month was hot and sticky and things still grew. In June it did not take much for the sun to stretch and sprinkle its powdered goodness over the blades of grass. Did the sunshine stick because the grass was ever so dewed? What a day, what a sight, what a morning. For it has always been, for her she wakes up with crust in her eyelids and it is still a good morning. She sits by the tree and reads under it offered shade whilst the ants and beetles fall in the cool spots of shade on her skirt that form little shapes. They polo in her one after the other, she is so invested in her book, and now there are many. But she does not swat them, because she is Mrs. Dalloway.
