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THE WINDOWdoing. She remembered that iniquity of hiswife’s towards him, which had made her turn tosteel and adamant there, in the horrid little roomin St. John’s Wood, when with her own eyes shehad seen that odious woman turn him out of thehouse. He was unkempt; he dropped things onhis coat; he had the tiresomeness of an old manwith nothing in the world to do; and she turnedhim out of the room. She said, in her odious way,"Now, Mrs. Ramsay and I want to have a littletalk together," and Mrs. Ramsay could see, as ifbefore her eyes, the innumerable miseries of hislife. Had he money enough to buy tobacco?Did he have to ask her for it? half a crown?eighteenpence? Oh, she could not bear to thinkof the little indignities she made him suffer. Andalways now (why, she could not guess, except thatit came probably from that woman somehow) heshrank from her. He never told her anything.But what more could she have done? There wasa sunny room given up to him. The childrenwere good to him. Never did she show a sign ofnot wanting him. She went out of her way indeedto be friendly. Do you want stamps, do you wanttobacco? Here’s a book you might like and soon. And after all—after all (here insensibly shedrew herself together, physically, the sense of herown beauty becoming, as it did so seldom, present67