TO THE LIGHTHOUSEsome seedy old gentleman in a top hat she had seenplaying the horn in front of a public house.

"Look!" she said, laughing. They were actuallyfighting. Joseph and Mary were fighting. Anyhowthey all went up again, and the air was shovedaside by their black wings and cut into exquisitescimitar shapes. The movement of the wings beatingout, out, out—she could never describe it accuratelyenough to please herself—was one of the loveliest ofall to her. Look at that, she said to Rose, hopingthat Rose would see it more clearly than she could.For one’s children so often gave one’s own per-ceptions a little thrust forwards.

But which was it to be? They had all the traysof her jewel-case open. The gold necklace, whichwas Italian, or the opal necklace, which UncleJames had brought her from India; or should shewear her amethysts?

“Choose, dearests, choose," she said, hoping thatthey would make haste.

But she let them take their time to choose: shelet Rose, particularly, take up this and then that,and hold her jewels against the black dress, for thislittle ceremony of choosing jewels, which was gonethrough every night, was what Rose liked best, sheknew. She had some hidden reason of her own forattaching great importance to this choosing what her122

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