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209151towhats it mean, this putting on & ?showing off, when we all of usfundamentally are nothing but simplicity? n so simple? &all the of it - Charles Tansley's temper ?& wonall this network oftemper, all these angers & arguments, seemed to her quiteincomprehensible; & her own annoyance that he s when hestood by her side smiling, & her depressions & miseries - atnot being more beautiful, or a better painter - what didthey all amount all, all, now seemed like a little rash,Mrs. Ramsay came round the rock & made them look at the sea.Was that a lobster pot, a chest, or a seal? she asked.But it wasnot the question; it was the the thing in her whichIt was in her nature. One of the things one liked her for. A kind ofchildlikeness. Perhaps then she was not clever?Didalmost incrediblysimple - like acoat onethrows onwhen it israining.So everyshe ever take part in an argument? Did she not oftenget up & leave the room at the crucial moment?Butthen she had she had shown Charles Tansley then, indifferently.She sat on the beach& wrote a letter. Sheleft her spectacles on the rock.She seemed to sayAnd this 'Charles Tansley' who wrote able letters to the paperssat down by her side & began playing ducks & drakes.said [?]Was it a lobster pot? she kept asking. And he keptchoosing the flattest stone he could find & makingthem skip along the waves. And she looked upnow & then & laughed.

Why did this stay in her mind as the happiest mostprofound scene she had ever been at; whyAnd ?she ?had by sitting there sketching she had beenas if all were ordered & appointed; as if fromone human life too were susceptible, like a picture, tomoments of arrangement & order; & now & then, whetherby freak or some superlative merit in of charactersome transcenent beauty, the