THE LIGHTHOUSEpushing his way up and up a single narrow path;and sometimes he went fast and straight, and brokehis way through the bramble, and sometimes itseemed a branch struck at him, a bramble blindedhim, but he was not going to let himself be beatenby that; on he went, tossing over page after page.And she went on telling herself a story aboutescaping from a sinking ship[∧], /for she was safe,while he sat there; safe, as she felt herself whenshe crept in from the garden, and took a bookgal74HB: Black pencil line to marginal note indicating the start of galley 74.down and the old gentleman, lowering the papersuddenly, said something very brief over the topof it about the character of Napoleon.She gazed back over the sea, at the island.But the leaf was losing its sharpness. It was verysmall; it was very distant. The sea was moreimportant now than the shore. Waves were allround them, tossing and sinking, with a logwallowing down one wave; a gull riding onanother. About here, she thought, dabbling herfingers in the water, a ship had sunk, and shemurmured, dreamily half asleep, how we perished,each alone.12So much depends then, thought Lily Briscoe,looking at the sea which had scarcely a stain on it,which was so soft that the sails and the clouds295
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