251285What was the problem?toits own& trust that in itssome inscrutable way, the brain wouldfind offer solve the problemspontaneously some ifit one forgot all about itdidnot ask itAMiserable & inefficient machine, she thought, this our the humanapparatus for painting, or feeling;at thecriticalmomentit was always breaking down;at thetheThe whole machine gave out; one could neither thinknor feel, & then where is one?was

Here on the lawn, she thought, kneeling on the hard dry turf,&squeezing out some olive green which could safely be appliedsafely in one corner of her picture.Here on the world, am I sittingback of theLily Briscoe, spinster, aged 44.aMa[How manymillion&millionsuch creatures was the world was carrying round & round on itsback at that moment?There were several little colonies ofplantain, she observed; & the rooks were swerving aboutmaking black crescents & scimitars & in the air. with theirwings in the air.

As for old Mr. Carmichael, lying there with his feet on acampstool, she wondered about him liked to be in his company onthis exalted station (for she could not shake herself free from thesense that everything was hap this morning was happeningfor the first time & the last time; as a traveller, eventhough he is half asleep, knows, looking fromout ofthe train window& even rubbing a clear space in the clouded glassso to look,that he will nevis now seeing some town or h mountainmust look nowfor the only time in his life,for he will never see thatparticular town or mountain again.She would never see it again,Mr. Carmichael again, perhaps.He was growing old. He was growing famous, she remembered, for?smilewith a little amusement (perceiving how hisslipper hung fromhis foot) for his translations; & a book which he had written about
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane