For Heaven only knows why one loves it so, how one sees it so, making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh but the veriest frumps, the most dejected of miseries sitting on doorsteps (drink their downfall) do the same can’t be dealt with, she felt positive, by Acts of Parliament for that very reason: they love life. Such fools we are, she thought, crossing Victoria Street.
Woolf begins her novel with Clarissa’s meditative stroll, which becomes a kind of hymn to the joys of London: Halfway there, he crosses the route that would be taken by Clarissa Dalloway fifty years later (had she, or he, actually existed), on her way to nearby Bond Street to buy flowers for her party that evening.
After making his round-the-world wager with his friends at the Reform Club, Phileas Fogg strides to his home at 7 Saville Row, several blocks away, to collect some clothes and his newly hired servant Jean Passepartout.
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