THE WINDOWthis mass on the right hand with that on the left.She might do it by bringing the line of the branchacross so; or break the vacancy in the foregroundby an object (James perhaps) so. But the dangerwas that by doing that the unity of the whole mightbe broken. She stopped; she did not want to borehim; she took the canvas lightly off the easel.

But it had been seen; it had been taken from her.This man had shared with her something pro-foundly intimate. And, thanking Mr. Ramsay forit and Mrs. Ramsay for it and the hour and theplace, crediting the world with a power which shehad not suspected—that one could walk away downthat long gallery not alone any more but arm inarm with somebody—the strangest feeling in theworld, and the most exhilarating—she nicked thecatch of her paint-box to, more firmly than wasnecessary, and the nick seemed to surround in acircle forever the paint-box, the lawn, Mr. Bankes,and that wild villain, Cam, dashing past.X

For Cam grazed the easel by an inch; she wouldnot stop for Mr. Bankes and Lily Briscoe; thoughMr. Bankes, who would have liked a daughter ofhis own, held out his hand; she would not stop for83
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