THE WINDOW“Well, then, look to-night ", said Mrs. Ramsay.They paused. He wished Andrew could beinduced to work harder. He would lose everychance of a scholarship if he didn’t. "Oh scholar-ships!" she said. Mr. Ramsay thought herfoolish for saying that, about a serious thing, likea scholarship. He should be very proud ofAndrew if he got a scholarship, he said. Shewould be just as proud of him if he didn’t, sheanswered. They disagreed always about this,but it did not matter. She liked him to believein scholarships, and he liked her to be proud ofAndrew whatever he did. Suddenly she remem-bered those little paths on the edge of the cliffs.

Wasn’t it late? she asked. They hadn’t comehome yet. He flicked his watch carelessly open.But it was only just past seven. He held hiswatch open for a moment, deciding that he wouldjust saytellher VW: Line to point of insertion. —peter.shillingsburgwhat he had felt on the terrace. To beginwith, it was not reasonable to be so nervous.Andrew could look after himself. Then, hewanted to tell her that when he was walking onthe terrace just now—here he became uncomfort-able, as if he were breaking into that solitude, thataloofness, that remoteness of hers. . . . But shepressed him. What had he wanted to tell her, sheasked, thinking it was about going to the Light-house;[∧]&thathe was sorry he had said "Damn you”.107
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