THE WINDOWAnd the whole of the effort of merging andflowing and creating rested on her. Again shefelt, as a fact without hostility, indeed with[%]pleasure, the sterility of men, for if she did notdo it nobody would do it, and so, giving herselfthe little shake that one gives a watch that hasstopped, the old familiar pulse began beating,as the watch begins ticking—one, two, three,one, two, three. And so on and so on, sherepeated, listening to it, sheltering and fosteringthe still feeble pulse as one might guard a weakflame with a newspaper. And so then, sheconcluded, addressing herself by bending silentlyin his direction to William Bankes—poor man!who had no wife, and no children and dined alonegal33in HB: Pencil marker indicating galley 33. lodgings except for to-night, and in pity for; /him, life being now strong enough to bear heron again, she began all this business, as a sailornot without weariness sees the wind fill his sailand yet hardly wants to be off again and thinkshow, had the ship sunk, he would have whirledround and round and found rest on the floor ofthe sea.“Did you find your letters? I told them toput them in the hall for you," she said to WilliamBankes.Lily Briscoe watched her drifting into thatstrange no-man’s land where to follow people is131
