THE LIGHTHOUSEdown, leaf upon leaf, fold upon fold softly,incessantly upon his brain; among scents, sounds;voices, harsh, hollow, sweet; and lights passing,and brooms tapping; and the wash and hush ofthe sea, andhow VW: Line from cancelled “and” to “how” in margin. —peter.shillingsburga man [∧]had VW: Line from caret to marginal “had.” —peter.shillingsburgmarchingedup and down andstoppingeddead, upright, over them. Meanwhile,he noticed, Cam dabbled her fingers in the water,and stared at the shore and said nothing. No,she won’t give way, he thought; she’s different,he thought. Well, if Cam would not answer him,he would not bother her Mr. Ramsay decided,feeling in his pocket for a book. But she wouldanswer him; she wished, passionately, to movesome obstacle that lay upon her tongue and to say,Oh yes, Frisk. I’ll call him Frisk. She wantedeven to say, Was that the dog that found its wayover the moor alone? But try as she might, shecould think of nothing to say like that, fierce andloyal to the compact, yet passing on to her father,unsuspected by James, a private token of theunderstandingloveshe felt for him. For she thought,dabbling her hand (and now Macalister’s boyhad caught a mackerel, and it lay kicking on thefloor, with blood on its gills) for she thought,looking at James who kept his eyes dispassionatelyon the sail, or glanced now and then for a secondat the horizon, you’re not exposed to it, to thispressure and division of feeling, this extra-261
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