“Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself . . . For there she was.” — Woolf, Virginia. (1925). Mrs. Dalloway.
Before parties, Mrs. Dalloway would set off for Covent Garden where she might buy flowers,
picking out tasteful selections of peonies, tea roses, and lilies herself from among market stalls,
At Harrod’s, she shopped for choice cuts of meat and fine wines the Bloomsbury set might devour.
As guests like John Maynard Keyes and E.M. Forster in their diaries no doubt touchingly recalled.
For as she said, there she was, musing among the vegetables, a London dowager of an uncertain age
reflecting in a stream of conscious thought ever depressive notions of Post-Great War English rage.