She raised a little mountain for the ants to climbover. She reduced them to a frenzy of indecision bythis interference in their cosmogony. Some ran thisway, others that.

One wanted fifty pairs of eyes to see with, shereflected. Fifty pairs of eyes were not enough to getround that one woman with, she thought. Amongthem, must be one that was stone blind to herbeauty. One wanted most some secret sense, fine asair, with which to steal through keyholes and sur-round her where she sat knitting, talking, sittingsilent in the window alone; which took to itselfand treasured up like the air which held the smokeof the steamer, her thoughts, her imaginations, herdesires. What did the hedge mean to her, what didthe garden mean to her, what did it mean to herwhen a wave broke? (Lily looked up, as she hadseen Mrs. Ramsay look up; she too heard a wavefalling on the beach.) And then what stirred andtrembled in her mind when the children cried,"How's that? How's that?" cricketing? She wouldstop knitting for a second. She would look intent.Then she would lapse again, and suddenly Mr. Ram-say stopped dead in his pacing in front of her andsome curious shock passed through her and seemedto rock her in profound agitation on its breast when294
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