TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthe leaf was losing its sharpness. It was very small;it was very distant. The sea was more importantnow than the shore. Waves were all round them,tossing and sinking, with a log wallowing down onewave; a gull riding on another. About here, shethought, dabbling her fingers in the water, a shiphad sunk, and she murmured, dreamily half asleep,how we perished, each alone.XI

So much depends then, thought Lily Briscoe,looking at the sea which had scarcely a stain on it,which was so soft that the sails and the cloudsseemed set in its blue, so much depends, she thought,upon distance: whether people are near us or farfrom us; for her feeling for Mr. Ramsay changedas he sailed further and further across the bay. Itseemed to be elongated, stretched out; he seemedto become more and more remote. He and his chil-dren seemed to be swallowed up in that blue, thatdistance; but here, on the lawn, close at hand, Mr.Carmichael suddenly grunted. She laughed. Heclawed his book up from the grass. He settled intohis chair again puffing and blowing like some seamonster. That was different altogether, because hewas so near. And now again all was quiet. They must284
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