271like an ?outcast; like the as if a shade had fallen, & robbed of colourshe saw things truly; & then, not of her own willing, butindependentlylike the pulse of a machine, which, inexplicably stopped, inexplicablybegins again, the oldfamiliar life began beating. And so on& so on, she thought, mechanically,as if she toothinking howone, two,three,irrationally.long peoples lives are & how much on the wholethey seem toenjoy them).And so on & so on, she repeated,cautiouslyfosteringsheltering & furthering the still feeble pulse,so as onemight guard a weak flame with a newspaper )And so on,she concluded, finding her life in her now almost strong enough.addressing herself, by bending slightly in his direction, towhoWilliam Bankes, - poor man!He had no wife, no children,to bear her on again& in pity for him, life being nowstrongly enough established,she said began again, all thisbeing business,as a sailorsees the windnot without weariness,as a sailor see thewind fill his sail, &yet hardly wants to be off again;how the ?boatthinksfor a moment how the boathad it sunk, might havethe boat might have plunged him to the depths of the sea.takenwhirled himdown & downw to thedepthsof thesea."Well, she said; to William, Did they you find yourshe saidletters.I told them to put them in the hall for you."

Lily Briscoe noticed it - her ?drifting/?dipping into that oddstrange no man's land, where followingisimpossible, & onlysome& one resents the &as some & yetto let them go &leave us isintolerable; soso that Lily thought, seeinghow oldsheMrs. Ramsay ladling out soup,that she lookedolder thanshe should look, & then, for&morehow old she(resenting it)looked; how worn she looked;how stern; & then,when sheturned to William Bankes,Lily thought, with someamusement, why does she pity him?For that wasthe impression she gave, when she told him about hisletters; thatPoor William Bankes, she seemed to be saying.
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