TO THE LIGHTHOUSEjudging from her own experience, would all thetime be feeling, This is not what we want; thereis nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumanethan love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.Well then, well then? she asked, somehow expect-ing the others to go on with the argument, asif in an argument like this one threw one's ownlittle bolt which fell short obviously and left theothers to carry it on. So she listened again towhat they were saying in case they should throwany light upon the question of love.

"Then," said Mr. Bankes, "there is thatliquid the English call coffee."

"Oh coffee!" said Mrs. Ramsay. But itwas much rather a question (she was thoroughlyroused, Lily could see, and talked very emphati-cally) of real butter and clean milk. Speakingwith warmth and eloquence she described theiniquity of the English dairy system, and in whatstate milk was delivered at the door, and was aboutto prove her charges, for she had gone into thematter, when all round the table, beginning withAndrew in the middle, like a fire leaping fromtuft to tuft of furze, her children laughed; herhusband laughed; she was laughed at, fire-encircled, and forced to vail her crest, dismounther batteries, and only retaliate by displaying theraillery and ridicule of the table to Mr. Bankes160
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