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THE WINDOWwith all that about his father and mother andbrothers and sisters, and she would see to it thatthey didn’t laugh at him any more; she would tellPrue about it. What he would have liked, shesupposed, would have been to say how he had beento Ibsen with the Ramsays. He was an awfulprig——oh yes, an insuH`erable bore. For, thoughthey had reached the town now and were in themain street, with carts grinding past on thecobbles, still he went on talking, about settlements,and teaching, and working men, and helping ourown class, and lectures, till she gathered that hehad got back entire self-confidence, had recoveredfrom the circus, and was about (and now againshe liked him warmly) to tell her—but here,the houses falling away on both sides, they cameout on the quay, and the whole bay spreadbefore them and Mrs. Ramsay could not helpexclaiming, “ Oh, how beautiful! " For the greatplateful of blue water was before her; the hoaryLighthouse, distant, austere, in the midst; and onthe right, as far as the eye could see, fading andfalling, in soft low pleats, the green sand duneswith the wild flowing grasses on them, whichalways seemed to be running away into somemoon country, uninhabited of men.That was the view, she said, stopping, growinggreyer-eyed, that her husband loved.