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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthinking? She was fifty at least; she had eight children.Stepping through fields of flowers and taking to herbreast buds that had broken and lambs that hadfallen; with the stars in her eyes and the wind in herhair — He took her bag.

‘Good-bye, Elsie,’ she said, and they walked up thestreet, she holding her parasol erect and walking as ifshe expected to meet someone round the corner, whilefor the first time in his life Charles Tansley felt anextraordinary pride; a man digging in a drain stoppeddigging and looked at her; let his arm fall down andlooked at her; Charles Tansley felt an extraordinarypride; felt the wind and the cyclamen and the violetsfor he was walking with a beautiful woman for thefirst time in his life. He had hold of her bag.2

‘No going to the Lighthouse, James,’ he said, as hestood by the window, speaking awkwardly, but tryingin deference to Mrs. Ramsay to soften his voice intosome semblance of geniality at least.

Odious little man, thought Mrs. Ramsay, why go onsaying that?3

‘Perhaps you will wake up and find the sun shin-ing and the birds singing,' she said compassionately,smoothing the little boy’s hair, for her husband, withhis caustic saying that it would not be fine, had dashedhis spirits she could see. This going to the Lighthousewas a passion of his, she saw, and then, as if her hus-20