TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthing. "Well, it’s all he has to count on," said Mr.Ramsay. "Pray Heaven he won’t fall in love withPrue," said Mrs. Ramsay. He’d disinherit her if shemarried him, said Mr. Ramsay. He did not look atthe flowers, which his wife was considering, but at aspot about a foot or so above them. There was noharm in him, he added, and was just about to saythat anyhow he was the only young man in Englandwho admired his—— when he choked it back. Hewould not bother her again about his books. Theseflowers seemed creditable, Mr. Ramsay said, low-ering his gaze and noticing something red, some-thing brown. Yes, but then these she had put in withher own hands, said Mrs. Ramsay. The questionwas, what happened if she sent bulbs down; didKennedy plant them? It was his incurable laziness;she added, moving on. If she stood over him all daylong with a spade in her hand, he did sometimesdo a stroke of work. So they strolled along, towardsthe red-hot pokers. "You’re teaching your daughtersto exaggerate," said Mr. Ramsay, reproving her.Her Aunt Camilla was far worse than she was, Mrs.Ramsay remarked. "Nobody ever held up your AuntCamilla as a model of virtue that I’m aware of,"said Mr. Ramsay. "She was the most beautifulwoman I ever saw," said Mrs. Ramsay. "Somebodyelse was that," said Mr. Ramsay. Prue was going102
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