THE WINDOWlously exact, exquisitely judicial. Suddenly, as if themovement of his hand had released it, the load of heraccumulated impressions of him tilted up, and downpoured in a ponderous avalanche all she felt abouthim. That was one sensation. Then up rose in a fumethe essence of his being. That was another. She feltherself transfixed by the intensity of her perception; itwas his severity; his goodness. I respect you (she ad-dressed him silently) in every atom; you are not vain;you are entirely impersonal; you are finer than Mr.Ramsay; you are the finest human being that I know;you have neither wife nor child (without any sexualfeeling, she longed to cherish that loneliness), you livefor science (involuntarily, sections of potatoes rose be-fore her eyes); praise would be an insult to you; gener-ous, pure-hearted, heroic man! But simultaneously,she remembered how he had brought a valet all theway up here; objected to dogs on chairs; would prosefor hours (until Mr. Ramsay slammed out of the room)about salt in vegetables and the iniquity of Englishcooks.

How then did it work out, all this? How did onejudge people, think of them? How did one add up thisand that and conclude that it was liking one felt, ordisliking? And to those words, what meaning attached,after all? Standing now, apparently transfixed, by thepear tree, impressions poured in upon her of those twomen, and to follow her thought was like following avoice which speaks too quickly to be taken down byone’s pencil, and the voice was her own voice sayingwithout prompting undeniable, everlasting, contra-dictory things, so that even the fissures and humps onthe back of the pear tree were irrevocably fixed there31
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials
 

View Pane