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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEfor that! But why after all should poor Augustus notask for another plate of soup? He had merely touchedEllen’s arm and said:

‘Ellen, please, another plate of soup,’ and then Mr.Ramsay scowled like that.

And why not? Mrs. Ramsay demanded. Surely theycould let Augustus have his soup if he wanted it. Hehated people wallowing in food, Mr. Ramsay frownedat her. He hated everything dragging on for hourslike this. But he had controlled himself, Mr. Ramsaywould have her observe, disgusting though the sightwas. But why show it so plainly, Mrs. Ramsay de-manded (they looked at each other down the longtable sending these questions and answers across, eachknowing exactly what the other felt). Everybody couldsee, Mrs. Ramsay thought. There was Rose gazing ather father, there was Roger gazing at his father; bothwould be off in spasms of laughter in another second,she knew, and so she said promptly (indeed it wastime):

‘The children are disgraceful,’ she said, sighing. Hesaid something about punctuality being one of theminor virtues which we do not acquire until later inlife.

‘If at all,’ said Mrs. Ramsay merely to fill up space,thinking what an old maid William was becoming.Conscious of his treachery, conscious of her wish totalk about something more intimate, yet out of moodfor it at present, he felt come over him the disagree-ableness of life, sitting there, waiting. Perhaps theothers were saying something interesting? What werethey saying?That the fishing season was bad; that the men were112