TO THE LIGHTHOUSEshould be beginning his soup over again. He loathedpeople eating when he had finished. She saw hisanger fly like a pack of hounds into his eyes, hisbrow, and she knew that in a moment somethingviolent would explode, and then—thank goodness!she saw him clutch himself and clap a brake on thewheel, and the whole of his body seemed to emitsparks but not words. He sat there scowling. Hehad said nothing, he would have her observe. Let hergive him the credit for that! But why after all shouldpoor Augustus not ask for another plate of soup?He had merely touched Ellen’s arm and said:

"Ellen, please, another plate of soup," and thenMr. Ramsay scowled like that.

And why not? Mrs. Ramsay demanded. Surelythey could let Augustus have his soup if hewanted it. He hated people wallowing in food, Mr.Ramsay frowned at her. He hated everythingdragging on for hours like this. But he had con-trolled himself, Mr. Ramsay would have her ob-serve, disgusting though the sight was. But whyshow it so plainly, Mrs. Ramsay demanded (theylooked at each other down the long table sendingthese questions and answers across, each knowingexactly what the other felt). Everybody could see,Mrs. Ramsay thought. There was Rose gazing ather father, there was Roger gazing at his father;144
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