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59Did one always, indeed, At any rate,were

Such labours as his must be indeed something that theMissarosyso inconceivable that [?] Sophie Briscoe,that kindly & well coveredlady who had spent much of her life sketching, rather wasrather fluttered when, in his turnings & pacings he approachedher end of the terrace. where No, one couldn't conceive howShe felt as if she, being only a mortal, had need of a telescopewith which to communicate with him; as if anyone so low asshe was in the scale of intelligence; had need of a?her & might, conceivably, speak to her. Happily, he saidpassednothing seemed unaware of her presence.But the merethought of the things that were in that man's headway of ananmade her grave in the pouting irresponsible way of old maidishmaids way, who, secure (for, though she had had her offershaving refused all offersof marriage she was glad, at 55, to think she had refused thekeptrefused them all & retained her right to view male eccentricityfrom a distance - ) Her brain tried for a She tried to makeher brain prod a little way along that path - He wrote aboutbooks about metaphysics. He was always thinkingShe could notconceive whathe thought about.When he was quite silent at dinner he was thinking of somethingwhich, she was afraid, she could not grasp even if he explained it toher. It was something philosophic.without any shape,to anyoneonly one man in a thousand,which did not really matter in the least, but to be able tounderstand this thing was, she had been told, this couldeven understand what this thing was; & Mr. Ramsay wasone of ?not could never spent all his time thinking about itNowsuch things.She always illustrated his occupation bywhen she considered what was Mr.seeing in her mind's eye a table; & trying to make herselfall the question was about a table & whether it existed or notfor her she had heard read enough of his books once toRamsay was thinking about. She believed he could thats