THE WINDOWto the Lighthouse?" And she would have to say,"No: not tomorrow; your father says not." Happily,Mildred came in to fetch them, and the bustle dis-tracted them. But he kept looking back over hisshoulder as Mildred carried him out, and she wascertain that he was thinking, we are not going tothe Lighthouse tomorrow; and she thought, he willremember that all his life.XI

No, she thought, putting together some of thepictures he had cut out—a refrigerator, a mowingmachine, a gentleman in evening dress—childrennever forget. For this reason, it was so importantwhat one said, and what one did, and it was a reliefwhen they went to bed. For now she need not thinkabout anybody. She could be herself, by herself.And that was what now she often felt the need of—to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to bealone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glit-tering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with asense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shapedcore of darkness, something invisible to others. Al-though she continued to knit, and sat upright, it wasthus that she felt herself; and this self having shedits attachments was free for the strangest adven-95
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