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They
had
reached
the
gap
between
the
two
clumps
of
red-hot
pokers
,
and
there
was
the
Lighthouse
again
,
but
she
would
not
let
herself
look
at
it
.
Had
she
known
that
he
was
looking
at
her
,
she
thought
,
she
would
not
have
let
herself
sit
there
,
thinking
.
She
disliked
anything
that
reminded
her
that
she
had
been
seen
sitting
thinking
.
So
she
looked
over
her
shoulder
,
at
the
town
.
The
lights
were
rippling
and
running
as
if
they
were
drops
of
silver
water
held
firm
in
a
wind
.
And
all
the
poverty
,
all
the
suffering
had
turned
to
that
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
thought
.
The
lights
of
the
town
and
of
the
harbour
and
of
the
boats
seemed
like
a
phantom
net
floating
there
to
mark
something
which
had
sunk
.
Well
,
if
he
could
not
share
her
thoughts
,
Mr.
Ramsay
said
to
himself
,
he
would
be
off
,
then
,
on
his
own
.
He
wanted
to
go
on
thinking
,
telling
himself
the
story
how
Hume
was
stuck
in
a
bog
;
he
wanted
to
laugh
.
But
first
it
was
nonsense
to
be
anxious
about
Andrew
.
When
he
was
Andrew
's
age
he
used
to
walk
about
the
country
all
day
long
,
with
nothing
but
a
biscuit
in
his
pocket
and
nobody
bothered
about
him
,
or
thought
that
he
had
fallen
over
a
cliff
.
He
said
aloud
he
thought
he
would
be
off
for
a
day
's
walk
if
the
weather
held
.
He
had
had
about
enough
of
Bankes
and
of
Carmichael
.
He
would
like
a
little
solitude
.
Yes
,
she
said
.
It
annoyed
him
that
she
did
not
protest
.
She
knew
that
he
would
never
do
it
.
He
was
too
old
now
to
walk
all
day
long
with
a
biscuit
in
his
pocket
.
She
worried
about
the
boys
,
but
not
about
him
.
Years
ago
,
before
he
had
married
,
he
thought
,
looking
across
the
bay
,
as
they
stood
between
the
clumps
of
red-hot
pokers
,
he
had
walked
all
day
.
He
had
made
a
meal
off
bread
and
cheese
in
a
public
house
.
He
had
worked
ten
hours
at
a
stretch
;
an
old
woman
just
popped
her
head
in
now
and
again
and
saw
to
the
fire
.
That
was
the
country
he
liked
best
,
over
there
;
those
sandhills
dwindling
away
into
darkness
.
One
could
walk
all
day
without
meeting
a
soul
.
There
was
not
a
house
scarcely
,
not
a
single
village
for
miles
on
end
.
One
could
worry
things
out
alone
.
There
were
little
sandy
beaches
where
no
one
had
been
since
the
beginning
of
time
.
The
seals
sat
up
and
looked
at
you
.
It
sometimes
seemed
to
him
that
in
a
little
house
out
there
,
alone
--
he
broke
off
,
sighing
.
He
had
no
right
.
The
father
of
eight
children
--
he
reminded
himself
.
And
he
would
have
been
a
beast
and
a
cur
to
wish
a
single
thing
altered
.
Andrew
would
be
a
better
man
than
he
had
been
.
Prue
would
be
a
beauty
,
her
mother
said
.
They
would
stem
the
flood
a
bit
.
That
was
a
good
bit
of
work
on
the
whole
--
his
eight
children
.
They
showed
he
did
not
damn
the
poor
little
universe
entirely
,
for
on
an
evening
like
this
,
he
thought
,
looking
at
the
land
dwindling
away
,
the
little
island
seemed
pathetically
small
,
half
swallowed
up
in
the
sea
.
"
Poor
little
place
,
"
he
murmured
with
a
sigh
.
She
heard
him
.
He
said
the
most
melancholy
things
,
but
she
noticed
that
directly
he
had
said
them
he
always
seemed
more
cheerful
than
usual
.
All
this
phrase-making
was
a
game
,
she
thought
,
for
if
she
had
said
half
what
he
said
,
she
would
have
blown
her
brains
out
by
now
.
It
annoyed
her
,
this
phrase-making
,
and
she
said
to
him
,
in
a
matter-of-fact
way
,
that
it
was
a
perfectly
lovely
evening
.
And
what
was
he
groaning
about
,
she
asked
,
half
laughing
,
half
complaining
,
for
she
guessed
what
he
was
thinking
--
he
would
have
written
better
books
if
he
had
not
married
.
He
was
not
complaining
,
he
said
.
She
knew
that
he
did
not
complain
.
She
knew
that
he
had
nothing
whatever
to
complain
of
.
And
he
seized
her
hand
and
raised
it
to
his
lips
and
kissed
it
with
an
intensity
that
brought
the
tears
to
her
eyes
,
and
quickly
he
dropped
it
.
They
turned
away
from
the
view
and
began
to
walk
up
the
path
where
the
silver-green
spear-like
plants
grew
,
arm
in
arm
.
His
arm
was
almost
like
a
young
man
's
arm
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
thought
,
thin
and
hard
,
and
she
thought
with
delight
how
strong
he
still
was
,
though
he
was
over
sixty
,
and
how
untamed
and
optimistic
,
and
how
strange
it
was
that
being
convinced
,
as
he
was
,
of
all
sorts
of
horrors
,
seemed
not
to
depress
him
,
but
to
cheer
him
.
Was
it
not
odd
,
she
reflected
?
Indeed
he
seemed
to
her
sometimes
made
differently
from
other
people
,
born
blind
,
deaf
,
and
dumb
,
to
the
ordinary
things
,
but
to
the
extraordinary
things
,
with
an
eye
like
an
eagle
's
.
His
understanding
often
astonished
her
.
But
did
he
notice
the
flowers
?
No
.
Did
he
notice
the
view
?
No
.
Did
he
even
notice
his
own
daughter
's
beauty
,
or
whether
there
was
pudding
on
his
plate
or
roast
beef
?
He
would
sit
at
table
with
them
like
a
person
in
a
dream
.
And
his
habit
of
talking
aloud
,
or
saying
poetry
aloud
,
was
growing
on
him
,
she
was
afraid
;
for
sometimes
it
was
awkward
--
Best
and
brightest
come
away
!
