TO THE LIGHTHOUSEsince he was fifteen; he had helped them at homeout of his savings; he was educating his sister.Still, he wished he had known how to answerMiss Briscoe properly; he wished it had not comeout all in a jerk like that. "You’d be sick." Hewished he could think of something to say toMrs. Ramsay, something which would show herthat he was not just a dry prig. That was whatthey all thought him. He turned to her. ButMrs. Ramsay was talking about people he hadnever heard of to William Bankes.

“Yes, take it away," she said briefly, inter-rupting what she was saying to Mr. Bankes tospeak to the maid. “It must have been fifteen—no, twenty years ago—that I last saw her," shewas saying, turning back to him again as if shecould not lose a moment of their talk, for she wasabsorbed by what they were saying. So he hadactually heard from her this evening! And wasCarrie still living at Marlow, and was everythingstill the same? Oh she could remember it as if [%]it were yesterday—going on the river, feeling verycold. But if the Mannings made a plan theystuck to it. Never should she forget Herbertkilling a wasp with a teaspoon on the bank! Andit was still going on, Mrs. Ramsay mused, glidinglike a ghost among the chairs and tables of thatdrawing-room on the banks of the Thames where136
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