TO THE LIGHTHOUSEcame down and it all seemed to him silly, superficial, flimsy. Why did they dress? He had comedown in his ordinary clothes. He had not got anydress clothes. “ One never gets anything worthhaving by post "—that was the sort of thing theywere always saying. They made men say thatsort of thing. Yes, it was pretty well true, hethought. They never got anything worth havingfrom one year’s end to another. They did nothingbut talk, talk, talk, eat, eat, eat. It was thewomen’s fault. Women made civilisation impossible with all their " charm," all their silliness.

‘No going to the Lighthouse to—morrow,Mrs. Ramsay," he said asserting himself. Heliked her; he admired her; he still thought of theman in the drain—pipe looking up at her; but hefelt it necessary to assert himself.

He was really, Lily Briscoe thought, in spite ofhis eyes, but then look at his nose, look at hishands, the most uncharming human being shehad ever met. Then why did she mind what hesaid? Women can’t write, women can’t paintwhat did that matter coming from him, sinceclearly it was not true to him but for_somereason helpful to him, and that was why he saidit? Why did her whole being bow, like corn

under a wind, and erect itself again from this

abasement only with a great and rather painful



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