TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthe silly Giddingses in the world, then, she thought,intimating by a little pressure on his arm that hewalked up hill too fast for her, and she must stopfor a moment to see whether those were fresh mole-hills on the bank, then, she thought, stooping downto look, a great mind like his must be different inevery way from ours. All the great men she hadever known, she thought, deciding that a rabbitmust have got in, were like that, and it was good foryoung men (though the atmosphere of lecture-roomswas stuffy and depressing to her beyond endurancealmost) simply to hear him, simply to look at him.But without shooting rabbits, how was one to keepthem down? she wondered. It might be a rabbit; itmight be a mole. Some creature anyhow was ruin-ing her Evening Primroses. And looking up, she sawabove the thin trees the first pulse of the full-throbbing star, and wanted to make her husbandlook at it; for the sight gave her such keen pleasure.But she stopped herself. He never looked at things.If he did, all he would say would be, Poor littleworld, with one of his sighs.

At that moment, he said, "Very fine," to pleaseher, and pretended to admire the flowers. But sheknew quite well that he did not admire them, or

even realise that they were there. It was only toplease her . . . Ah, but was that not Lily Briscoe108

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