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THE WINDOWcruelty, its unscrupulosity. It scorched her, andLily, looking at Minta, being charming to Mr.Ramsay at the other end of the table, flinched forher exposed to these fangs, and was thankful.For at any rate, she said to herself, catching sightof the salt cellar on the pattern, she need notmarry, thank Heaven: she need not undergo thatdegradation; that dilution. She was saved from[%]that[∧]thatdilution. She would move the tree rather more to themiddle.—HB Pencil mark; possibly a compositor’s indication of a starting point for typesetting Such was the complexity of things. For whathappened to her, especially staying with theRamsays, was to be made to feel violently twoopposite things at the same time; that’s what youfeel, was one; that’s what I feel was the other,and then they fought together in her mind, as now.It is so beautiful, so exciting, this love, that Itremble on the verge of it, and offer, quite out ofmy own habit, to look for a brooch on a beach;also it is the stupidest, the most barbaric of humanpassions, and turns a nice young man with aprofile like a geniusgem’sVW Line drawn to point of insertion. —peter.shillingsburg(Paul's was exquisite) into abully with a crowbar (he was swaggering, he wasinsolent) in the Mile End Road. Yet she said toherself from the dawn of time odes have beensung to love; wreaths heaped and roses; and ifyou asked nine people out of ten[∧]theyVW: Line drawn to point of insertion. —peter.shillingsburgwould say theywanted nothing but this—love; while the women,159
