THE LIGHTHOUSEthe firmness of her lips, made the air thick, rolleddown her cheeks. She had perfect control ofherself—Oh yes!—in every other way. Was shecrying then for Mrs. Ramsay, without beingaware of any unhappiness? She addressed oldMr. Carmichael again. What was it then? Whatdid it mean? Could things thrust their hands upand grip one; [∧]couldVW: Line to caret. —peter.shillingsburgthe blade cut; the fist grasp? Wasthere no safety? No learning by heart of the waysof the world? No guide, no shelter, but all wasmiracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a towerinto the air? Could it be, even for elderly people,that this was life?—startling, unexpected, un-known? For one moment she felt that if theyboth got up, here[∧], /?stray mark above comma? —peter.shillingsburgnow on the lawn, and demandedan explanation, why was it so short, why was itso inexplicable, said it with violence, as two fullyequipped human beings from whom nothing shouldbe hid might speak, then, beauty would roll itselfup; the space would fill; those empty flourisheswould form into shape; if they shouted loud enoughMrs. Ramsay would return. "Mrs. Ramsay!”she said aloud, "Mrs. Ramsay!" The tears randown her face.7([ VW: Oversized bracket. —peter.shillingsburgMacalister's boy took one of the fish and cuta square out of its side to bait his hook with. The277
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