215community with things which have no bearing upon one's life at all.Flowers, yes; & some lonely places, where she, who was hardly everalone?onealone, went down to ?drink, laying aside her clothes at the rivers' edge,[?ones]?thereonesputting off the greenhouse clothes, laying aside clothesThat was what she would consider, when they were all grown up; & she?how ithad time. Then Sshe would get it straight.She would find out what ithow there isother relationship; notbetween herselfhow there is onerelation: James & herhusband: another,herself &the other relationship, of mind & what did one call it?Sheheld stopped knitting.She [?] gazed again, with some irony in herinterrogation, at that lovely cryptic light:that silent light; thatwhich was silvering the waves a little more brightly, asdaylight faded.She had for it some irrational tenderness;it gave her, as it gave herchildren, some queer ecstasy; some ?& thesight of thatthose lights, the two quick lights & thenthe long light, whichsay what you like (& as for her husband, he would say, quite tenderly,gave herthat it was nonsense)such happiness as almost transcendedworry & loss: how they had not come back: & might be killed.For if the there was no treachery too base for the world not tocommit: of that she was well aware. All she replied tothe worlds treachery was, (& she grasped her stock knittedwith her firm composure, & a little pressure of the lips)But she made no reply.She watched the lighthouse for aminute or two. There was no reply.For in asking this or that ofinlife,praying questioning, mo onemust have at one's commandmadelanguage, which shehad not; one must bemade differently; forin herfor she never saw things, or formulated things; butonly opposed to fate, what she?was, that she did notby any means give way; & was able to understand without movingfrom her chairaltogetherwas to this twofold nature; of the
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