THE WINDOWmiss him. There was a ladder against the green-house, and little lumps of putty stuck about, forthey were beginning to mend the greenhouse. Yes,but as she strolled along with her husband, she feltthat that particular source of worry had beenplaced. She had it on the tip of her tongue to say,as they strolled, "It'll cost fifty pounds," but instead,for her heart failed her about money, she talkedabout Jasper shooting birds, and he said, at once,soothing her instantly, that it was natural in a boy,and he trusted he would find better ways of amusinghimself before long. Her husband was so sensible, sojust. And so she said, "Yes; all children go throughstages," and began considering the dahlias in thebig bed, and wondering what about next year'sflowers, and had he heard the children's nicknamefor Charles Tansley, she asked. The atheist, theycalled him, the little atheist. "He's not a polishedspecimen," said Mr. Ramsay. "Far from it," saidMrs. Ramsay.

She supposed it was all right leaving him tohis own devices, Mrs. Ramsay said, wonderingwhether it was any use sending down bulbs; didthey plant them? "Oh, he has his dissertation towrite," said Mr. Ramsay. She knew all about that,said Mrs. Ramsay. He talked of nothing else. Itwas about the influence of somebody upon some-101
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