THE LIGHTHOUSEmarry him. And she stepped slowly, quietly onshore. Probably she said one word only, lettingher hand rest still in his. I will marry you, shemight have said, with her hand in his; but nomore. Time after time the same thrill had passedbetween them—obviously it had, Lily thought,smoothing a way for her ants. She was notinventing; she was only trying to smooth outsomething she had been given years ago foldedup; something she had seen. For in the roughand tumble of daily life, with all those childrenabout, all those visitors, one had constantly a senseof repetition———of one thing falling where anotherhad fallen, and so setting up an echo whichchimed in the air and made it full of vibrations.

But it would be a mistake, she thought,thinking how they walked off together, she in hergreen shawl, he with his tie flying, arm in arm,past the greenhouse, to simplify their relationship.It was no monotony of bliss—she with herimpulses and quicknesses; he with his shuddersand glooms. Oh no. The bedroom door wouldslam violently early in the morning. He wouldstart from the table in a temper. He wouldwhizz his plate through the window. Then allthrough the house there would be a sense ofdoors slamming and blinds Huttering as if agusty wind were blowing and people scudded305

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