THE WINDOWher and admire her? Was it not secretly this thatshe wanted, and therefore when Mr. Carmichaelshrank away from her, as he did at this moment,making off to some corner where he did acrosticsendlessly, she did not feel merely snubbed backin her instinct, but made aware of the pettinessof some part of her, and of human relations, howflawed they are, how despicable, how self-seekingat their best. Shabby and worn out, and not pre-sumably (her cheeks were hollow, her hair waswhite) any longer a sight that filled the eyes withjoy, she had better devote her mind to the storyof the Fisherman and his Wife and so pacify thatbundle of sensitiveness (none of her children wasas sensitive as he was) her son James.

The man’s heart grew heavy," she readaloud, “and he would not go. He said tohimself, ‘It is not right,’ and yet he went. Andwhen he came to the sea the water was quite

purple and dark blue, and grey and thick, and nolonger so green and yellow, but it was still quiet.And he stood there and said ——"

Mrs. Ramsay could have wished that herhusband had not chosen that moment to stop.Why had he not gone as he said to watch thechildren playing cricket? But he did not speak;he looked; he nodded; he approved; he went on.He slipped seeing before him that hedge which69
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