TO THE L1GHTHoUsEexamination of her canvas. The question beingone of the relations of masses, of lights andshadows, which, to be honest, he had never considered before, he would like to have it explained

what then did she wish to make of it? And heindicated the scene before them. She looked.She could not show him what she wished to makeof it, could not see it even herself, without a brushin her hand. She took up once more her oldpainting position with the dim eyes and the absentminded manner, subduing all her impressions asa woman to something much more general; becoming once more under the power of that visionwhich she had seen clearly once and must nowgrope for among hedges and houses and mothersand children—her picture. It was a question, sheremembered, how to connect this mass on theright hand with that on the left. She might do itby bringing the line of the branch across so; orbreak the vacancy in the foreground by an object(james perhaps) so. But the danger was thatby doing that the unity of the whole mightbe broken. She stopped; she did not want tobore him; she took the canvas lightly oH’ theeasel.

But it had been seen; it had been taken fromher. This man had shared with her somethingprofoundly intimate. And, thanking Mr. Ramsay86

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