They had rooms in the village, and so, walkingin, walking out, parting late on door-mats, hadsaid little things about the soup, about thechildren, about one thing and another which madethem allies; so that when he stood beside hernow in his judicial way (he was old enough to beher father too, a botanist, a widower, smelling ofsoap, very scrupulous and clean) she just stoodthere. He just stood there. Her shoes wereexcellent, he observed. They allowed the toestheir natural expansion. Lodging in the samehouse with her, he had noticed too, how orderlyshe was, up before breakfast and off to paint, hebelieved, alone: poor, presumably, and without thecomplexion or the allurement of Miss Doylecertainly, but with a good sense which made herin his eyes superior to that young lady. Now,for instance, when Ramsay bore down on them,shouting, gesticulating, Miss Briscoe, he feltcertain, understood.Someone had blundered.

Mr. Ramsay glared at them. He glared atthem without seeming to see them. That didmake them both vaguely uncomfortable. To-gether they had seen a thing they had not beenmeant to see. They had encroached upon aprivacy. So, Lily thought, it was probably anexcuse of his for moving, for getting out ofC33
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