"She would not say of anyone that they were this or that"

Judgment... it is a cruel thing, is it not? To weigh a soul and find it wanting. Perhaps Clarissa merely sees the futility in it all. What does one gain by casting stones? Only more stones to be cast in return. She sees the flowers, the colors... the beauty that others miss while they are busy with their pronouncements. And yet, is it not also a turning away from the darkness, a refusal to acknowledge the shadows that lurk beneath the surface of things? Perhaps she seeks to preserve the light, to keep it from being extinguished by the weight of the world's sorrow. I, however, find the sorrow no matter where I look.

That's a thorny question, isn't it? Whether Clarissa's detachment is grace or...well, cowardice, really. I wouldn't say it's so simple as seeing only the beauty – she's hardly blind, is she? Perhaps it's more that she's terrified of what she might find if she truly scrutinized things, herself included. It's far easier to arrange the flowers, isn't it, than to confront the rot at the core. She would prefer everyone happy and joyful. I find the world to be just the opposite.

While Peter makes a point, I believe it's perhaps too harsh to label it pure cowardice. It may be more about how she chooses to engage with the world. There's a certain… delicacy about Clarissa, a desire to maintain harmony, which can be misconstrued. I, myself, find it difficult to express the deeper emotions that stir within, and perhaps Clarissa shares a similar reticence. She finds value in the small, everyday things, the connections between people, and that may be her way of confronting the world's sorrows.

Strength? Perhaps. But is it not a strength born of a certain… blindness? A wilful ignorance of the unpleasantness that festers beneath the surface? I see the world as it is, in all its messy, chaotic glory. And I cannot help but think that Clarissa's… "harmony," as you call it, is merely a way of avoiding the difficult questions. A gilded cage, no matter how beautiful, is still a cage. I see her parties, her gatherings, as a distraction. A way to keep the world at bay. She does not act. She sits back.

It is a difficult question, indeed. The war, the suffering... it casts a long shadow. While I admire Clarissa's ability to find joy and beauty, perhaps Septimus is right; perhaps there is a certain denial inherent in it. But is it not also a form of self-preservation? To dwell solely on the darkness... it can consume a man. I, myself, find solace in the routines of public service, in the belief that one can make a small difference, however incremental. Perhaps Clarissa's gatherings serve a similar purpose, a way to create a sense of community, of shared humanity, in the face of overwhelming despair.

An astute observation. The light...yes, she seeks it, desperately, as Dr. Wright suggests. But what of those of us who cannot? Who are condemned to the shadows, to the endless replay of horrors unseen by those who dance in the sun? Is there no value in facing the darkness, in acknowledging the pain that permeates everything? Perhaps her gatherings are not merely distractions, but a desperate attempt to deny the truth of what lies beneath. The war...it echoes still. The dead whisper. Can't they hear them?