TO THE LIGHTHOUSEin the world to do; and she turned him out of theroom. She said, in her odious way, "Now, Mrs.Ramsay and I want to have a little talk together,"and Mrs. Ramsay could see, as if before her eyes,the innumerable miseries of his life. Had he moneyenough to buy tobacco? Did he have to ask her forit? half-a-crown? eighteenpence? Oh, she could notbear to think of the little indignities she made himsuffer. And always now (why, she could not guess,except that it came probably from that woman some-how) he shrank from her. He never told her any-thing. But what more could she have done? Therewas a sunny room given up to him. The childrenwere good to him. Never did she show a sign of notwanting him. She went out of her way indeed to befriendly. Do you want stamps, do you want tobacco?Here’s a book you might like and so on. And afterall—after all (here insensibly she drew herself to-gether, physically, the sense of her own beauty be-coming, as it did so seldom, present to her)—afterall, she had not generally any difficulty in makingpeople like her; for instance, George Manning; Mr.Wallace; famous as they were, they would come toher of an evening, quietly, and talk alone over herfire. She bore about with her, she could not helpknowing it, the torch of her beauty; she carried iterect into any room that she entered; and after all,64
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