TO THE LIGHTHOUSEdrawn by some sweetness or sharpness in the airintangible to touch or taste, one haunted the dome-shaped hive, ranged the wastes of the air over thecountries of the world alone, and then haunted thehives with their murmurs and their stirrings; thehives, which were people. Mrs. Ramsay rose. Lilyrose. Mrs. Ramsay went. For days there hung abouther, as after a dream some subtle change is felt inthe person one has dreamt of, more vividly thananything she said, the sound of murmuring and, asshe sat in the wicker arm-chair in the drawing-room window she wore, to Lily’s eyes, an augustshape; the shape of a dome.

This ray passed level with Mr. Bankes’s raystraight to Mrs. Ramsay sitting reading there withJames at her knee. But now while she still looked,Mr. Bankes had done. He had put on his spec-tacles. He had stepped back. He had raised his hand.He had slightly narrowed his clear blue eyes, whenLily, rousing herself, saw what he was at, andwinced like a dog who sees a hand raised to strikeit. She would have snatched her picture off theeasel, but she said to herself, One must. She bracedherself to stand the awful trial of some one lookingat her picture. One must, she said, one must. Andif it must be seen, Mr. Bankes was less alarmingthan another. But that any other eyes should see80
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