Virginia Woolf in happier days in Lady Ottoline Morell’s garden, where the Bloomsbury circle would often gather…
“Ghost, air, nothingness, a thing you could play with easily and safely at any time of day or night, she had been that, and then suddenly she put her hand out and wrung the heart thus. Suddenly, the empty drawing-room steps, the frill of the chair inside, the puppy tumbling on the terrace, the whole wave and whisper of the garden became like curves and arabesques flourishing round a centre of complete emptiness. . . .” — Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
Photo: Vintage snapshot, 1926 (NPG, London)
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