TO THE LIGHTHOUSEhis glass at lunch a few drops of something, whichaccounted, the children thought, for the vividstreak of canary-yellow in moustache and beardthat were otherwise already[%]milk white.No nothing, hemurmuredVW: Insertion on three lines. —peter.shillingsburg

He should have been a great philosopher, saidMrs. Ramsay, as they went down the road to thefishing village, but he had made an unfortunatemarriage. Holding her black parasol very erect,and moving with an indescribable air of expecta-tion, as if she were going to meet some one roundthe corner, she told the story; an affair at Oxfordwith some girl; an early marriage; poverty;going to India; translating a little poetry "verybeautifully, I believe", being willing to teach theboys Persian or Hindou /stanee, but what really wasthe use of that?—and then lying, as they saw him,on the lawn.

It flattered him; snubbed as he had been, itsoothed him that Mrs. Ramsay should tell himthis. Mr.[%]Charles Tansley revived. Insinuat-ing, too, as she did the greatness of man's in-tellect, even in its decay, the subjection of allwives—not that she [mark] HB: Printer’s "castoff" mark. —peter.shillingsburgblamed the girl, and thegal.4HB —peter.shillingsburgmarriage had been happy enough, she believed—to their husband's labours, she made him feelbetter pleased with himself than he had done yet,and he would have liked, had they taken a cab,for example, to have paid the fare.for it.As for her22
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