TO THE LIGHTHOUSEmade his children hope what was utterly out ofthe question, in effect, told lies. He stamped hisfoot on the stone step. "Damn you," he said.

But what had she said? Simply that it might befine to—morrow. Sol it might.Not with the barometer falling and the winddue west.

To pursue truth with such astonishing lack ofconsideration for other people’s feelings, to rendthe thin veils of civilisation so wantonly, sobrutally, was to her so horrible an outrage ofhuman decency that, without replying, dazed andblinded, she bent her head as if to let the pelt ofjagged hail, the drench of dirty water, bespatterher unrebuked. There was nothing to be said.

He stood by her in silence. Very humbly, atlength, he said that he would step over and askthe Coastguards if she liked.There was nobody whom she reverenced asshe reverenced him.

She was quite ready to take his word for it,she said. Only then they need not cut sandwiches

that was all. They came to her, naturally,since she was a woman, all day long with this andthat; one wanting this, another that; the childrenwere growing up; she often felt she was nothingbut a sponge sopped full of human emotions.Then he said, Damn you. He said, It must rain.

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