THE WINDOWflashed her needles. Mr. Ramsay repeated, nevertaking his eyes from her face, that he was a failure.She blew the words back at him. “Charles Tansley . . ." she said. But he must have more than that.It was sympathy he wanted, to be assured of hisgenius, first of all, and then to be taken withinthe circle of life, warmed and soothed, to have hissenses restored to him, his barrenness made fertile,and all the rooms of the house made full of life—the drawing-room; behind the drawing-room thekitchen; above the kitchen the bedrooms; and be-yond them the nurseries; they must be furnished,they must be filled with life.

Charles Tansley thought him the greatest meta-physician of the time, she said. But he must havemore than that. He must have sympathy. He mustbe assured that he too lived in the heart of life;was needed; not here only, but all over the world.Flashing her needles, confident, upright, she cre-ated drawing-room and kitchen, set them all aglow;bade him take his ease there, go in and out, enjoyhimself. She laughed, she knitted. Standing be-tween her knees, very stiff, James felt all herstrength flaring up to be drunk and quenched bythe beak of brass, the arid scimitar of the male,

which smote mercilessly, again and again, demand-

ing sympathy.


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