THE WINDOWthe brush revealed fresh legs, hoops, horses, glisten-ing reds and blues, beautifully smooth, until halfthe wall was covered with the advertisement of acircus; a hundred horsemen, twenty performingseals, lions, tigers . . . Craning forwards, for shewas short-sighted, she read it out . . . "will visitthis town," she read. It was terribly dangerous workfor a one-armed man, she exclaimed, to stand on topof a ladder like that—his left arm had been cut off ina reaping machine two years ago.

"Let us all go!" she cried, moving on, as if allthose riders and horses had filled her with childlikeexultation and made her forget her pity.

"Let's go," he said, repeating her words, clickingthem out, however, with a self-consciousness thatmade her wince. "Let us go to the circus." No. Hecould not say it right. He could not feel it right. Butwhy not? she wondered. What was wrong with himthen? She liked him warmly, at the moment. Hadthey not been taken, she asked, to circuses whenthey were children? Never, he answered, as if sheasked the very thing he wanted; had been longingall these days to say, how they did not go to circuses.It was a large family, nine brothers and sisters, andhis father was a working man. "My father is achemist, Mrs. Ramsay. He keeps a shop." He him-self had paid his own way since he was thirteen.21
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