TO THE LIGHTHOUSEpasses for cookery in England is an abomination(they agreed). It is putting cabbages in water. It is roasting meat till it is like leather. It is cuttingoff the delicious skins of vegetables. "In which,"said Mr. Bankes, "all the virtue of the vegetable iscontained." And the waste, said Mrs. Ramsay. Awhole French family could live on what an Englishcook throws away. Spurred on by her sense thatWilliam’s affection had come back to her, and thateverything was all right again, and that her suspensewas over, and that now she was free both to triumphand to mock, she laughed, she gesticulated, till Lilythought, How childlike, how absurd she was, sittingup there with all her beauty opened again in her,talking about the skins of vegetables. There wassomething frightening about her. She was irresistible.Always she got her own way in the end, Lilythought. Now she had brought this off—Paul andMinta, one might suppose, were engaged. Mr.Bankes was dining here. She put a spell on them all,by wishing, so simply, so directly, and Lily con-trasted that abundance with her own poverty ofspirit, and supposed that it was partly that belief(for her face was all lit up—without looking young,she looked radiant) in this strange, this terrifyingthing, which made Paul Rayley, sitting at her side,all of a tremor, yet abstract, absorbed, silent. Mrs.152
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