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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEmorrow. How did she differ? What was the spirit inher, the essential thing, by which, had you found aglove in the corner of a sofa, you would have knownit, from its twisted finger, hers indisputably? She waslike a bird for speed, an arrow for directness. Shewas wilful; she was commanding (of course, Lily re-minded herself, I am thinking of her relations withwomen, and I am much younger, an insignificantperson, living off the Brompton Road). She openedbedroom windows. She shut doors. (So she tried tostart the tune of Mrs. Ramsay in her head.) Arrivinglate at night, with a light tap on one’s bedroom door,wrapped in an old fur coat (for the setting of her beautywas always that — hasty, but apt), she would enactagain whatever it might be — Charles Tansley losinghis umbrella; Mr. Carmichael snuffling and sniffing;Mr. Bankes saying, ‘the vegetable salts are lost’. Allthis she would adroitly shape; even maliciously twist;and, moving over to the window, in pretence thatshe must go, — it was dawn, she could see the sunrising — half turn back, more intimately, but stillalways laughing, insist that she must, Minta must,they all must marry, since in the whole world, what-ever laurels might be tossed to her (but Mrs. Ramsaycared not a fig for her painting), or triumphs won byher (probably Mrs. Ramsay had had her share ofthose), and here she saddened, darkened, and cameback to her chair, there could be no disputing this;an unmarried woman (she lightly took her hand fora moment), an unmarried woman has missed thebest of life. The house seemed full of children sleep-ing and Mrs. Ramsay listening; of shaded lights andregular breathing.60