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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEhis egotism, and told her how he had been thrownout of a boat when he was a baby; how his fatherused to fish him out with a boat-hook; that washow he had learnt to swim. One of his uncleskept the light on some rock or other off theScottish coast, he said. He had been there withhim in a storm. This was said loudly in a pause.They had to listen to him when he said that hehad been with his uncle in a lighthouse in astorm. Ah, thought Lily Briscoe, as the con-versation took this auspicious turn, and she feltMrs. Ramsay’s gratitude (for Mrs. Ramsay wasfree now to talk for a moment herself), ah, shethought, but what haven’t I paid to get it for you?She had not been sincere.She had done the usual trick—been nice. Shewould never know him. He would never knowher. Human relations were all like that, shethought, and the worst (if it had not been for Mr.Bankes) were between men and women. In-evitably these were extremely insincere[∧]shethoughtVW Half lassoed with line to caret. —peter.shillingsburg. Thenher eye caught the salt cellar, which she hadplaced there to remind her, and she rememberedthat next morning she would move the tree furthertowards the middle, and her spirits rose so highat the thought of painting to-morrow that shelaughed out loud at what Mr. Tansley was saying.Let him talk all night if he liked it.144
