TO THE LIGHTHOUSEber the whole shape of the thing. He had tokeep his judgement in suspense. So he returnedto the other thought—if young men did not carefor this, naturally they did not care for himeither. One ought not to complain, thoughtMr. Ramsay, trying to stifle his desire to complainto his wife that young men did not admire him.But he was determined; he would not bother heragain. Here he looked at her reading. Shelooked very peaceful, reading. He liked to thinkthat every one had taken themselves off and thathe and she were alone. The whole of life did notconsist in going to bed with a woman, he thought,returning to Scott and Balzac, to the Englishnovel and the French novel.

Mrs. Ramsay raised her head and like a personin a light sleep seemed to say that if he wanted[%]her to wake up otherwise, might she go on sleeping, just a littlelonger, just a little longer? She was climbing upthose branches, this way and that, laying hands onone flower and then another.

"Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose,"she read, and so reading she was ascending, shefelt, on to the top, on to the summit. Howsatisfying! How restful! All the odds and endsof the day stuck to this magnet; her mind feltswept, felt clean. And then there it was, suddenly186she would, she really would, but
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