Now, it may seem as though I'm making too much of this, a small piece of punctuation missing from a passage. But the manner in which this utterance to his wife leaps forth from his train of thought betrays a strange moment of omniscience on the part of the narrator. I decided to reread "Kew Gardens" twice more to make sure that, in fact, Simon's account is the only specifically omniscient moment for the narrator, by which I mean to say that the character's literal thoughts are given to the reader verbatim. For the rest of the story, the narrator acts in a much more spectatorial role, picking apart the other characters' thoughts and dispositions mostly from their facial expressions: "The younger of the two men wore an expression of perhaps unnatural calm; he raised his eyes and fixed them very steadily in front of him while his companion spoke" (86).
Because of this backgrounding on Simon's previous visit to the garden with Lily, I felt a closeness with him that was lost with the other characters; I understood his plight more than, say, the two "elderly women" who "piece together their very complicated dialogue" (87). Other than my own feeling toward Simon, I certainly can't draw any conclusions about Woolf's work on the whole, so I'm going to hope that pointing out this anomaly may lead to someone else picking up the baton.