TO THE LIGHTHOUSEit would be destroyed. But what did that matter?she asked herself, taking up her brush again. Shelooked at the steps; they were empty; she lookedat her canvas; it was blurred. With a sudden in-tensity, as if she saw it clear for a second, she drewa line there, in the centre. It was done; it wasfinished. Yes, she thought, laying down her brush inextreme fatigue, I have had my vision.THE END310
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