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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEown experience, would all the time be feeling, Thisis not what we want; there is nothing more tedious,puerile, and inhumane than love; yet it is also beau-tiful and necessary. Well then, well then? she asked,somehow expecting the others to go on with the ar-gument, as if in an argument like this one threwone’s own little bolt which fell short obviously andleft the others to carry it on. So she listened again towhat they were saying in case they should throw anylight upon the question of love.

‘Then,’ said Mr. Bankes, ‘there is that liquid theEnglish call coffee.’

‘Oh coffee!’ said Mrs. Ramsay. But it was muchrather a question (she was thoroughly roused, Lilycould see, and talked very emphatically) of real but-ter and clean milk. Speaking with warmth and elo-quence she described the iniquity of the English dairysystem, and in what state milk was delivered at thedoor, and was about to prove her charges, for shehad gone into the matter, when all round the table,beginning with Andrew in the middle, like a fireleaping from tuft to tuft of furze, her children laughed;her husband laughed; she was laughed at, fire-en-circled, and forced to vail her crest, dismount herbatteries, and only retaliate by displaying the railleryand ridicule of the table to Mr. Bankes as an exampleof what one suffered if one attacked the prejudicesof the British Public.

Purposely, however, for she had it on her mindthat Lily, who had helped her with Mr. Tansley, wasout of things, she exempted her from the rest; said‘Lily anyhow agrees with me,’ and so drew her in,a little fluttered, a little startled. (For she was think-122