“Big Ben was beginning to strike, first the warning, musical; then the hour, irrevocable.”
The school song is playing from the fake bell tower on campus as I’m typing this, telling me it’s six o’clock and it’s time to eat dinner.
Time. It’s such an awful restriction and yet I guess completely necessary for society to function. I’m particularly swamped with things to do lately and I just don’t have enough time to do everything I want to. So how do I decide what gets done when? And why is that damned clock always there to remind me how little time I have?
In Mrs. Dalloway the ringing of the hour serves as a device to unite the characters, as they all hear the bells and are all affected by passing time. But these “leaden circles” dissolving on the air, as Woolf describes the…
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