“Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? but that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here, there, she survived…” (Woolf 12).
Clarissa here, in a rare moment, contemplates death, but not in a morbid sense. She sees life as something that inevitably passes and should be enjoyed while it can. When death comes, she thinks, things continue, though she does not. Hours continue to strike, and London lives on.
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