TO THE LIGHTHOUSEa cathedral, for she did not listen to the words. Thesudden bursts of laughter and then one voice(Minta's) speaking alone, reminded her of men andboys crying out the Latin words of a service insome Roman Catholic cathedral. She waited. Herhusband spoke. He was repeating something, andshe knew it was poetry from the rhythm and thering of exultation, and melancholy in his voice:Come out and climb the garden path,Luriana Lurilee.The China rose is all abloom and buzzing with the yellowbee.

The words (she was looking at the window)sounded as if they were floating like flowers onwater out there, cut off from them all, as if no onehad said them, but they had come into existenceof themselves.

"And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives tobe are full of trees and changing leaves." She didnot know what they meant, but, like music, thewords seemed to be spoken by her own voice, outside her self, saying quite easily and naturally whathad been in her mind the whole evening while shesaid different things. She knew, without lookinground, that every one at the table was listening tothe voice saying:166

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