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THE WINDOWShe was laughing at him. He was in his old flanneltrousers. He had no others. He felt very rough andisolated and lonely. He knew that she was trying totease him for some reason; she didn’t want to go tothe Lighthouse with him; she despised him: so didPrue Ramsay; so did they all. But he was not goingto be made a fool of by women, so he turned deliber-ately in his chair and looked out of the window andsaid, all in a jerk, very rudely, it would be too roughfor her to-morrow. She would be sick.

It annoyed him that she should have made himspeak like that, with Mrs. Ramsay listening. If onlyhe could be alone in his room working, he thought,among his books. That was where he felt at his ease.And he had never run a penny into debt; he had nevercost his father a penny since he was fifteen; he hadhelped them at home out of his savings; he was edu-cating his sister. Still, he wished he had known howto answer Miss Briscoe properly; he wished it had notcome out all in a jerk like that. ‘You’d be sick.’ Hewished he could think of something to say to Mrs.Ramsay, something which would show her that hewas not just a dry prig. That was what they all thoughthim. He turned to her. But Mrs. Ramsay was talkingabout people he had never heard of to William Bankes.

‘Yes, take it away,’ she said briefly, interruptingwhat she was saying to Mr. Bankes to speak to themaid. ‘It must have been fifteen — no, twenty yearsago — that I last saw her,’ she was saying, turningback to him again as if she could not lose a momentof their talk, for she was absorbed by what they weresaying. So he had actually heard from her this even-ing! And was Carrie still living at Marlow, and was103