TO THE LIGHTHOUSEabout going to the Lighthouse; that he was sorryhe had said "Damn you." But no. He did not liketo see her look so sad, he said. Only wool gathering,she protested, flushing a little. They both felt un-comfortable, as if they did not know whether to goon or go back. She had been reading fairy tales toJames, she said. No, they could not share that;they could not say that.

They had reached the gap between the twoclumps of red-hot pokers, and there was the Light-house again, but she would not let herself lookat it. Had she known that he was looking at her,she thought, she would not have let herself sit there,thinking. She disliked anything that reminded herthat she had been seen sitting thinking. So she lookedover her shoulder, at the town. The lights wererippling and running as if they were drops of silverwater held firm in a wind. And all the poverty,all the suffering had turned to that, Mrs. Ramsaythought. The lights of the town and of the harbourand of the boats seemed like a phantom net float-ing there to mark something which had sunk. Well,if he could not share her thoughts, Mr. Ramsaysaid to himself, he would be off, then, on his own.He wanted to go on thinking, telling himself thestory how Hume was stuck in a bog; he wantedto laugh. But first it was nonsense to be anxious104

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