TO THE LIGHTHOUSEearshot, that made Mr. Bankes almost immedi-ately say something about its being chilly andsuggest taking a stroll. She would come, yes.But it was with difficulty that she took her eyesoff her picture.

The jacmanna was bright violet; the wallstaring white. She would not have considered ithonest to tamper with the bright violet and thestaring white, since she saw them like that,fashionable though it was, since Mr. Paunce-forte's visit, to see everything pale, elegant, semi-transparent. Then beneath the colour there wasthe shape. She could see it all so clearly, socommandingly, when she looked: it was when shetook her brush [∧]in handthat the whole thing changed. Itwas in that moment's flight between the picture[%]she saw and her canvas that the demons set on herwho often brought her to the verge of tears andmade this passage from conception to work asdreadful as any down a dark passage for a child.Such she often felt herself—struggling againstterrific odds to maintain her courage; to say:"But this is what I see; this is what I see," and soto clasp some miserable remnant of her vision toher breast, which a thousand forces did their bestto pluck from her. And it was then that[%]too, inthat chill and windy way, as she began to paint,that there forced themselves upon her other34
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