THE LIGHTHOUSEthis extraordinary temptation. Her father was feel-ing in his pockets; in another second, he would havefound his book. For no one attracted her more; hishands were beautiful, and his feet, and his voice,and his words, and his haste, and his temper, and hisoddity, and his passion, and his saying straight outbefore every one, we perish, each alone, and hisremoteness. (He had opened his book.) But whatremained intolerable, she thought, sitting upright,and watching Macalister’s boy tug the hook out ofthe gills of another fish, was that crass blindnessand tyranny of his which had poisoned her child-hood and raised bitter storms, so that even now shewoke in the night trembling with rage and remem-bered some command of his; some insolence: "Dothis," "Do that," his dominance: his "Submit tome."

So she said nothing, but looked doggedly andsadly at the shore, wrapped in its mantle of peace;as if the people there had fallen asleep, she thought;were free like smoke, were free to come and go likeghosts. They have no suffering there, she thought.V

Yes, that is their boat, Lily Briscoe decided,standing on the edge of the lawn. It was the boat253
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