THE LIGHTHOUSEhe had a particular reason for wanting to go tothe Lighthouse. His wife used to send the menthings. There was a poor boy with a tuber-culous hip, the lightkeeper’s son. He sighedprofoundly. He sighed significantly. All Lilywished was that this enormous flood of grief,this insatiable hunger for sympathy, this demandthat she should surrender herself up to himentirely, and even so he had sorrows enough tokeep her supplied for ever, should leave her,should be diverted (she kept looking at the house,hoping for an interruption) before it swept herdown in its flow.

“Such expeditions," said Mr. Ramsay, scrap-ing the ground with his toe, "are very painful.”Still Lily said nothing. (She is a stock, she is astone, he said to himself.) "They are veryexhausting," he said, looking, with a sickly lookthat nauseated her against her will (he wasacting, she felt[∧], /this great man was dramatisinghimself), at his beautiful hands. It was horrible,it was indecent. Would they never come, sheasked, for she could not sustain this enormousweight of sorrow, support these heavy draperiesof grief (he had assumed a pose of extremedecrepitude; he even tottered a little as he stoodthere) a moment longer.

Still she could say nothing; the whole horizon235
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