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THE LIGHTHOUSEwith a little breeze in them, but the ripple ran overthem and ceased. The boat made no motion at all.Mr. Ramsay sat in the middle of the boat. He wouldbe impatient in a moment, James thought, and Camthought, looking at their father, who sat in the middleof the boat between them (James steered; Cam satalone in the bow) with his legs tightly curled. He hatedhanging about. Sure enough, after fidgeting a secondor two, he said something sharp to Macalister’s boy,who got out his oars and began to row. But theirfather, they knew, would never be content until theywere flying along. He would keep looking for a breeze,fidgeting, saying things under his breath, which Mac-alister and Macalister’s boy would overhear, and theywould both be made horribly uncomfortable. He hadmade them come. He had forced them to come. Intheir anger they hoped that the breeze would neverrise, that he might be thwarted in every possible way,since he had forced them to come against their wills.

All the way down to the beach they had laggedbehind together, though he bade them ‘Walk up, walkup’, without speaking. Their heads were bent down,their heads were pressed down by some remorselessgale. Speak to him they could not. They must come;they must follow. They must walk behind him carry-ing brown paper parcels. But they vowed, in silence,as they walked, to stand by each other and carry outthe great compact — to resist tyranny to the death.So there they would sit, one at one end of the boat,one at the other, in silence. They would say nothing,only look at him now and then where he sat withhis legs twisted, frowning and fidgeting, and pishingand pshawing and muttering things to himself, and189