TO THE LIGHTHOUSEneed was so great, thrusting through their defences[%]somehow or another, to give him what he wanted:sympathy.

Was anybody looking after her? he said. Hadshe everything she wanted?

“Oh, thanks, everything,” said Lily Briscoenervously. No; she could not do it. She oughtto have floated off instantly upon some wave ofsympathetic expansion: the pressure on her wastremendous. But she remained stuck. Therewas an awful pause. They both looked at thesea. Why, thought Mr. Ramsay, should shelook at the sea when I am here? She hoped itwould be calm enough for them to land at theLighthouse, she said. The Lighthouse! TheLighthouse! What’s that got to do with it? hethought impatiently. Instantly, with the force ofsome primeval gust (for really he could notrestrain himself any longer), there issued fromhim such a groan that any other woman in thewhole world would have done something, saidsomething—all except myself, thought Lily,girding at herself bitterly, who am not a woman,but a peevish, ill-tempered, dried-up old maidpresumably.

Mr. Ramsay sighed to the full. He waited.Was she not going to say anything? Did she notsee what he wanted from her? Then he said234
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane