"Is it a boat? Is it a cork?" she would say, Lilyrepeated, turning back, reluctantly again, to hercanvas. Heaven be praised for it, the problem ofspace remained, she thought, taking up her brushagain. It glared at her. The whole mass of the pic-ture was poised upon that weight. Beautiful andbright it should be on the surface, feathery andevanescent, one colour melting into another like thecolours on a butterfly’s wing; but beneath the fabricmust be clamped together with bolts of iron. It wasto be a thing you could ruffle with your breath; anda thing you could not dislodge with a team of horses.And she began to lay on a red, a grey, and she beganto model her way into the hollow there. At the sametime, she seemed to be sitting beside Mrs. Ramsayon the beach.

"Is it a boat? Is it a cask?" Mrs. Ramsay said.And she began hunting round for her spectacles.And she sat, having found them, silent, lookingout to sea. And Lily, painting steadily, felt as ifa door had opened, and one went in and stood gazingsilently about in a high cathedral-like place, verydark, very solemn. Shouts came from a world faraway. Steamers vanished in stalks of smoke on thehorizon. Charles threw stones and sent themskipping.

Mrs. Ramsay sat silent. She was glad, Lily255
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane