TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthe palm tree and the sunset. It was extremely im-personal; it said something about death; it saidvery little about love. There was an impersonalityabout him. He wanted very little of other people.Had he not always lurched rather awkwardly pastthe drawing-room window with some newspaperunder his arm, trying to avoid Mrs. Ramsay whomfor some reason he did not much like? On thataccount, of course, she would always try to makehim stop. He would bow to her. He would halt un-willingly and bow profoundly. Annoyed that he didnot want anything of her, Mrs. Ramsay would askhim (Lily could hear her) wouldn’t he like a coat,a rug, a newspaper? No, he wanted nothing. (Herehe bowed.) There was some quality in her which hedid not much like. It was perhaps her masterfulness,her positiveness, something matter-of-fact in her.She was so direct.

(A noise drew her attention to the drawing-roomwindow—the squeak of a hinge. The light breezewas toying with the window.)

There must have been people who disliked hervery much, Lily thought (Yes; she realised that thedrawing-room step was empty, but it had no effecton her whatever. She did not want Mrs. Ramsaynow.)—People who thought her too sure, too drastic.Also her beauty offended people probably. How290
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