TO THE LIGHTHOUSEa hypocrite? she repeated. Oh no—the mostsincere of men, the truest (here he was), the best;but, looking down, she thought, he is absorbedin himself, he is tyrannical, he is unjust; and keptlooking down, purposely, for only so could shekeep steady, staying with the Ramsays. Directlyone looked up and saw them, what she called“being in love” flooded them. They becamepart of that unreal but penetrating and excitinguniverse which is the world seen through the eyesof love. The sky stuck to them; the birds sangthrough them. And, what was even moreexciting, she felt, too, as she saw Mr. Ramsaybearing down and retreating, and Mrs. Ramsaysitting with James in the window and the cloudmoving and the tree bending, how life, from beingmade up of little separate incidents which onelived one by one, became curled and whole likea wave which bore one up with it and threw onedown with it, there, with a dash on the beach.

Mr. Bankes expected her to answer. Andshe was about to say something, oddly enough itwas something[%]criticising Mrs. Ramsay, how shewas alarming, too, in her way, high-handed, orwords to that effect, when Mr. Bankes made itentirely unnecessary for her to speak by hisrapture. For such it was considering his age,turned sixty, and his cleanliness and his imperson-76
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