Pale agonies crossed Mrs.
Dalloway in waves.

When the curtains flapped, grey lights puffed across her.

Between the spasms of the storm, Helen made the curtain fast, shook the pillows, stretched the bed-clothes, and smoothed the hot nostrils and forehead with cold scent.
"You _are_ good!" Clarissa gasped.

"Horrid mess!" She was trying to apologise for white underclothes fallen and scattered on the floor.

For one second she opened a single eye, and saw that the room was tidy.
"That's nice," she gasped.
Helen left her; far, far away she knew that she felt a kind of liking for Mrs.Dalloway.She could not help respecting her spirit and her desire, even in the throes of sickness, for a tidy bedroom.