TO THE LIGHTHOUSEfeet, afraid of waking a watch-dog by a creakingboard, went on thinking what was she like, wheredid she go that day?Hebegan following herfrom room to room and at last they came to aroom where in a blue light, as if the reflectioncame from many china dishes, she talked to some-body; he listened to her talking. She talked toa servant, saying simply whatever came into herhead. She alone spoke the truth; to her alonecould he speak it. That was the source of hereverlasting attraction for him, perhaps; she wasa person to whom one could say what came intoone's headstet[%]Now in London, now wherever theylived, they were surrounded by distortions;lamentations; and long speeches and violence;and old ladies like Mrs. Beckwith being kind,and bald men sipping tea and being clever whilebread and butter turned brown in the saucer, andthere one twiddled one’s thumbs in the heart ofunreality, sitting in the background on a stool,and if in the middle of all this sighing and beingclever some one sneezed or a dog was sick, nobodydared laugh. And the house grew darker, hethought, and turned the colour of dusty plush,and there were shrines in corners and nothingcould be moved, and nothing could be broken.In the depths of the winter, or in those longtwilight months which seemed interminable, his288FIRST PROOFadditional corrections onpp 286-91 transferredto first setTHE LIGHTHOUSEa new carpet for the staircase. And once some-thing led him to talk about the Ramsays andhe had said how when he first saw her she hadbeen wearing a grey hat; she was not morethan nineteen or twenty. She was astonishinglybeautiful. There he stood looking down theavenue at Hampton Court, in what Lily had oncecalled a rapture.

She looked now at the drawing-room step.She saw, through William’s eyes, the shape of awoman, peaceful and silent, with downcast eyes.She sat musing, pondering (she was in grey thatday, Lily thought). Her eyes were bent. Shewould never lift them. Yes, thought Lily, lookingintently, I must have seen her look like that, butnot in grey; nor so still, nor so young, nor sopeaceful.The figure came readily enough. Shewas astonishingly beautiful, as William said.But beauty was not everything. Beauty had thispenalty—it came too readily, came too com-pletely.It stilled life—froze it. One forgot thelittle agitations; the flush, the pallor, some queerdistortion, some light or shadow, which made theface unrecognisable for a moment and yet added aquality one saw for ever after. It was simpler tosmooth that all out under the cover of beauty.But what was the look she had, Lily wondered,when she clapped her deer-stalker's hat on herS273R. & R CLARK, LTD.11 FEB. 1927EDINBURGH.
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