189a very careful watercolour of a hou village on the Kennet wherehe had spent his honeymoon. Lily felt that there was nothing thathe would not give up in the cause of truth. It interested him, &he would stand give his best mind to the question of whichvexed her of this the relations between one part of her picture&absorbedto another part of her picture. So that she put herself againinto position; again considered the thing as a whole.Was the triangular purple perhaps too heavy,so that thelight sky sky became too light? How should one &link up bridge the connect the two chief blocks of matterso that must somehow be joined together -Ah well, she broke off returning again, apologetically to theextreme modesty of ?spinster art. a painting uneducatedwomanhood; & took it off the easel

[But her picture has been looked at; her pictureit had been placedhad been cut from her;& had taken its place on the otherthe obsequiousdejected?deplorableside of that deep & of that horrid little ditch, where whichthat men like Charles Tansley cut so indefatigablyround women who wanted to do anything,]But here was somebody who made it seem possible to paint apicture; &, returning to the normal relationshipagain; notwasshe wouldof women & trees, but of women & human beings,byhave thanked him fornot his extraordinary magnaminity,would have which was so rare, so in her experience, &how odd it was, sometimes to be which lightened the wholeof her horizon w - for here was a man, & one of the mostbrilliant too (she had heard Mr. Ramsaydesc call himwho did notthe most brilliant botanist in Europe)would let one talk to him.That was the sort of thingthat did happen, if one stayed with the Ramsays -one lived for 30 yearbelieving this to be true; suddenly herewasMr. Bankes- & one cd. talk about painting. Now withhis trained mind,And Lily Briscoe put [?strai]nicked the tinpaint box too to, with a vivid& amazing?sense, which wd. be for ever
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