TO THE LIGHTHOUSEcontain the words that express the speaker’sthoughts; nevertheless speaking French imposessome order, some uniformity. Replying to her in thesame language, Mr. Bankes said, "No, not at all,"and Mr. Tansley, who had no knowledge of thislanguage, even spoke thus in words of one syllable,at once suspected its insincerity. They did talk non-sense, he thought, the Ramsays; and he pounced onthis fresh instance with joy, making a note which,one of these days, he would read aloud, to one ortwo friends. There, in a society where one could saywhat one liked he would sarcastically describe "stay-ing with the Ramsays" and what nonsense theytalked. It was worth while doing it once, he wouldsay; but not again. The women bored one so, hewould say. Of course Ramsay had dished himselfby marrying a beautiful woman and having eightchildren. It would shape itself something like that,but now, at this moment, sitting stuck there withan empty seat beside him, nothing had shaped itselfat all. It was all in scraps and fragments. He felt ex-tremely, even physically, uncomfortable. He wantedsomebody to give him a chance of asserting himself.He wanted it so urgently that he fidgeted in his chair,looked at this person, then at that person, tried tobreak into their talk, opened his mouth and shut itagain. They were talking about the fishing industry.136
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