Heaven could never be sufiiciently praised!She heard sounds in the house; james and Cammust be coming. But Mr. Ramsay, as if he knewthat his time ran short, exerted upon her solitaryfigure the immense pressure of his concentratedwoe; his age; his frailty; his desolation; whensuddenly, tossing his head impatiently, in hisannoyance—for, after all, what woman could resisthim?—he noticed that his boot—laces were untied.Remarkable boots they were too, Lily thought,looking down at them: sculptured; colossal; likeeverything that Mr. Ramsay wore, from hisfrayed tie to his half-buttoned waistcoat, his ownindisputably. She could see them walking tohis room of their own accord, expressive inhis absence of pathos, surliness, ill-temper,charm.

‘ What beautiful boots! " she exclaimed. Shewas ashamed of herself. To praise his boots whenhe asked her to solace his soul; when he hadShown her his bleeding hands, his lacerated heart,and asked her to pity them, then to say, cheerfully, " Ah, but what beautiful boots you wear! ’deserved, she knew, and she looked up expectingget it, in one of his sudden roars of ill-temper,€0mplete annihilation.

Instead, Mr. Ramsay smiled. His pall, hisraperies, his innrmities fell from him. Ah yes,237

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