Mr Dalloway and his wife

And Richard Dalloway opened the front door.  Hands gripped the familiar doorway; and straight-stiff backed, he pulled; standing right to the edge of the sill.  Light fell forward, stroking arms of light; tentacles stretching out, falling playfully over his chest.  Mesmerised, Richard urged his body forward.  Great waves of mental energy, pressing upwards.  But it was as if a strong pair of scissors had begun operating; cutting down from head to his toe.  Will and body were dividing.

"I must go out, I must go out", he murmured hoarsely.  Words like fuel strengthening the tangle, suckling and drawing it in.  Beneath his skin there was a sudden rise in temperature; and the familiar swirling sense of disconnecting.

"I will be stuck here, like a lemon" he thought. "Someone will see me. I will be seen."
"The eyes, then the nose."

The light was now thickening; lemon yellow.  Richard attempted a backward motion, back into the house.  "Must keep moving, keep up the circulating." Hands and arms rotating.

But the light had him tight.  It was beneath his clothes and had entwined itself around his right leg.  Thoughts of screaming, came crashing to his head; of harsh and discordant screams, as that of finger nails....and he couldn't even raise his hands to his ears.  Hands that, in any account, would by necessity, need to be inside.  But this inside was not pleasant at the moment.  And it was to be seen.

Clarissa appeared.  Clarissa with her tight forehead, and upright eyes. He knew she would be the one.  She looked at him knowingly, seeing inside, seeing the hands straining to cover the ears, the lemon custard, the sharp increase in heat.  And Clarissa, with her tight forehead, coming forward and taking Richard by the hand.  With her hand she took Richard; and he descended the steps.  Down, he descended, and she stayed right were she was; he was shrinking.  She was remaining right where  she was.