THE WINDOWthat brought the tears to her eyes, and quickly hedropped it.

They turned away from the view and began towalk up the path where the silver-green spear-likeplants grew, arm in arm. His arm was almost likea young man’s arm, Mrs. Ramsay thought, thin andhard, and she thought with delight how strong hestill was, though he was over sixty, and how un-tamed and optimistic, and how strange it was thatbeing convinced, as he was, of all sorts of horrors,seemed not to depress him, but to cheer him. Wasit not odd, she reflected? Indeed he seemed to hersometimes made differently from other people, bornblind, deaf, and dumb, to the ordinary things, butto the extraordinary things, with an eye like aneagle’s. His understanding often astonished her. Butdid he notice the flowers? No. Did he notice theview? No. Did he even notice his own daughter’sbeauty, or whether there was pudding on his plateor roast beef? He would sit at table with them likea person in a dream. And his habit of talking aloud,or saying poetry aloud, was growing on him, shewas afraid; for sometimes it was awkward—Best and brightest come away!poor Miss Giddings, when he shouted that at her,almost jumped out of her skin. But then, Mrs.Ramsay, though instantly taking his side against all107
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane