TO THE LIGHTHOUSEsaying anything about it! It meant to him theannihilation of womanhood, and dirt and disorder,and servants leaving and beds not made at mid-day—all the things he most abhorred. He hada way of shuddering and spreading his fingers outas if to cover an unsightly object which he didnow—holding his hand in front of him. AndMinta walked on ahead, and presumably Paulmet her and she went off with Paul in the garden.

The Rayleys, thought Lily Briscoe, squeezingher tube of green paint. She collected her im-pressions of the Rayleys. Their lives appearedto her in a series of scenes; one, on the staircaseat dawn. Paul had come in and gone to bed early;Minta was late. There was Minta, wreathed,tinted, garish on the stairs about three o’clock inthe morning. Paul came out in his pyjamascarrying a poker in case of burglars. Minta waseating a sandwich, standing half-way up by awindow, in the cadaverous early morning light,and the carpet had a hole in it. But what did theysay? Lily asked herself, as if by looking she couldhear them.[%]Something violent. Minta went oneating her sandwich, annoyingly, while he spoke.[%]He spoke indignant, jealous wordssomethingviolent, abusing her,in a mutter so as not to wake the children ([%]they[%][%]had two little boys)[%]. He was withered, drawn;she flamboyant, careless. For things had worked266
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