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Strife
,
divisions
,
difference
of
opinion
,
prejudices
twisted
into
the
very
fibre
of
being
,
oh
,
that
they
should
begin
so
early
,
Mrs.
Ramsay
deplored
.
They
were
so
critical
,
her
children
.
They
talked
such
nonsense
.
She
went
from
the
dining-room
,
holding
James
by
the
hand
,
since
he
would
not
go
with
the
others
.
It
seemed
to
her
such
nonsense
--
inventing
differences
,
when
people
,
heaven
knows
,
were
different
enough
without
that
.
The
real
differences
,
she
thought
,
standing
by
the
drawing-room
window
,
are
enough
,
quite
enough
.
She
had
in
mind
at
the
moment
,
rich
and
poor
,
high
and
low
;
the
great
in
birth
receiving
from
her
,
half
grudging
,
some
respect
,
for
had
she
not
in
her
veins
the
blood
of
that
very
noble
,
if
slightly
mythical
,
Italian
house
,
whose
daughters
,
scattered
about
English
drawing-rooms
in
the
nineteenth
century
,
had
lisped
so
charmingly
,
had
stormed
so
wildly
,
and
all
her
wit
and
her
bearing
and
her
temper
came
from
them
,
and
not
from
the
sluggish
English
,
or
the
cold
Scotch
;
but
more
profoundly
,
she
ruminated
the
other
problem
,
of
rich
and
poor
,
and
the
things
she
saw
with
her
own
eyes
,
weekly
,
daily
,
here
or
in
London
,
when
she
visited
this
widow
,
or
that
struggling
wife
in
person
with
a
bag
on
her
arm
,
and
a
note-book
and
pencil
with
which
she
wrote
down
in
columns
carefully
ruled
for
the
purpose
wages
and
spendings
,
employment
and
unemployment
,
in
the
hope
that
thus
she
would
cease
to
be
a
private
woman
whose
charity
was
half
a
sop
to
her
own
indignation
,
half
a
relief
to
her
own
curiosity
,
and
become
what
with
her
untrained
mind
she
greatly
admired
,
an
investigator
,
elucidating
the
social
problem
.
Insoluble
questions
they
were
,
it
seemed
to
her
,
standing
there
,
holding
James
by
the
hand
.
He
had
followed
her
into
the
drawing-room
,
that
young
man
they
laughed
at
;
he
was
standing
by
the
table
,
fidgeting
with
something
,
awkwardly
,
feeling
himself
out
of
things
,
as
she
knew
without
looking
round
.
They
had
all
gone
--
the
children
;
Minta
Doyle
and
Paul
Rayley
;
Augustus
Carmichael
;
her
husband
--
they
had
all
gone
.
So
she
turned
with
a
sigh
and
said
,
"
Would
it
bore
you
to
come
with
me
,
Mr.
Tansley
?
"
She
had
a
dull
errand
in
the
town
;
she
had
a
letter
or
two
to
write
;
she
would
be
ten
minutes
perhaps
;
she
would
put
on
her
hat
.
And
,
with
her
basket
and
her
parasol
,
there
she
was
again
,
ten
minutes
later
,
giving
out
a
sense
of
being
ready
,
of
being
equipped
for
a
jaunt
,
which
,
however
,
she
must
interrupt
for
a
moment
,
as
they
passed
the
tennis
lawn
,
to
ask
Mr.
Carmichael
,
who
was
basking
with
his
yellow
cat
's
eyes
ajar
,
so
that
like
a
cat
's
they
seemed
to
reflect
the
branches
moving
or
the
clouds
passing
,
but
to
give
no
inkling
of
any
inner
thoughts
or
emotion
whatsoever
,
if
he
wanted
anything
.
For
they
were
making
the
great
expedition
,
she
said
,
laughing
.
They
were
going
to
the
town
.
"
Stamps
,
writing-paper
,
tobacco
?
"
she
suggested
,
stopping
by
his
side
.
But
no
,
he
wanted
nothing
.
His
hands
clasped
themselves
over
his
capacious
paunch
,
his
eyes
blinked
,
as
if
he
would
have
liked
to
reply
kindly
to
these
blandishments
(
she
was
seductive
but
a
little
nervous
)
but
could
not
,
sunk
as
he
was
in
a
grey-green
somnolence
which
embraced
them
all
,
without
need
of
words
,
in
a
vast
and
benevolent
lethargy
of
well-wishing
;
all
the
house
;
all
the
world
;
all
the
people
in
it
,
for
he
had
slipped
into
his
glass
at
lunch
a
few
drops
of
something
,
which
accounted
,
the
children
thought
,
for
the
vivid
streak
of
canary-yellow
in
moustache
and
beard
that
were
otherwise
milk
white
.
No
,
nothing
,
he
murmured
.
He
should
have
been
a
great
philosopher
,
said
Mrs.
Ramsay
,
as
they
went
down
the
road
to
the
fishing
village
,
but
he
had
made
an
unfortunate
marriage
.
Holding
her
black
parasol
very
erect
,
and
moving
with
an
indescribable
air
of
expectation
,
as
if
she
were
going
to
meet
some
one
round
the
corner
,
she
told
the
story
;
an
affair
at
Oxford
with
some
girl
;
an
early
marriage
;
poverty
;
going
to
India
;
translating
a
little
poetry
"
very
beautifully
,
I
believe
,
"
being
willing
to
teach
the
boys
Persian
or
Hindustanee
,
but
what
really
was
the
use
of
that
?
--
and
then
lying
,
as
they
saw
him
,
on
the
lawn
.
It
flattered
him
;
snubbed
as
he
had
been
,
it
soothed
him
that
Mrs.
Ramsay
should
tell
him
this
.
Charles
Tansley
revived
.
Insinuating
,
too
,
as
she
did
the
greatness
of
man
's
intellect
,
even
in
its
decay
,
the
subjection
of
all
wives
--
not
that
she
blamed
the
girl
,
and
the
marriage
had
been
happy
enough
,
she
believed
--
to
their
husband
's
labours
,
she
made
him
feel
better
pleased
with
himself
than
he
had
done
yet
,
and
he
would
have
liked
,
had
they
taken
a
cab
,
for
example
,
to
have
paid
the
fare
.
As
for
her
little
bag
,
might
he
not
carry
that
?
No
,
no
,
she
said
,
she
always
carried
THAT
herself
.
She
did
too
.
Yes
,
he
felt
that
in
her
.
He
felt
many
things
,
something
in
particular
that
excited
him
and
disturbed
him
for
reasons
which
he
could
not
give
.
He
would
like
her
to
see
him
,
gowned
and
hooded
,
walking
in
a
procession
.
A
fellowship
,
a
professorship
,
he
felt
capable
of
anything
and
saw
himself
--
but
what
was
she
looking
at
?
At
a
man
pasting
a
bill
.
The
vast
flapping
sheet
flattened
itself
out
,
and
each
shove
of
the
brush
revealed
fresh
legs
,
hoops
,
horses
,
glistening
reds
and
blues
,
beautifully
smooth
,
until
half
the
wall
was
covered
with
the
advertisement
of
a
circus
;
a
hundred
horsemen
,
twenty
performing
seals
,
lions
,
tigers
...
Craning
forwards
,
for
she
was
short-sighted
,
she
read
it
out
...
"
will
visit
this
town
,
"
she
read
.
It
was
terribly
dangerous
work
for
a
one-armed
man
,
she
exclaimed
,
to
stand
on
top
of
a
ladder
like
that
--
his
left
arm
had
been
cut
off
in
a
reaping
machine
two
years
ago
.
"
Let
us
all
go
!
"
she
cried
,
moving
on
,
as
if
all
those
riders
and
horses
had
filled
her
with
childlike
exultation
and
made
her
forget
her
pity
.
