THE WINDOWlistened, as if she waited for some habitual sound,some regular mechanical sound; and then, hearingsomething rhythmical, half said, half chanted,beginning in the garden, as her husband beat upand down the terrace, something between a croakand a song, she was soothed once more, assuredagain that all was well, and looking down at thebook on her knee found the picture of a pocketknife with six blades which could only be cut outif james was very careful.Suddenly a loud cry, as of a sleep—walker, halfroused, something aboutStormed at with shot and shellsung out with the utmost intensity in her ear,made her turn apprehensively to see if any oneheard him. Only Lily Briscoe, she was glad tofind; and that did not matter. But the sightof the girl standing on the edge of the lawnpainting reminded her; she was supposed to bekeeping her head as much in the same positionas possible for Lily’s picture. Lily’s picture!Mrs. Ramsay smiled. With her little Chineseeyes and her puckered—up face she would nevermarry; one could not take her painting veryseriously; but she was an independent littleCreature, Mrs. Ramsay liked her for it, and soremembering her promise, she bent her head.
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