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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEor meeting of people (all now gone and separate),one of those globed compacted things over whichthought lingers, and love plays.Her eyes rested on the brown speck of Mr.Ramsay’s sailing boat. They would be at theLighthouse by lunch time she supposed. But thewind had freshened, and, as the sky changedslightly and the sea changed slightly and theboats altered their positions, the view, which amoment before had seemed miraculously fixed,was now unsatisfactory. The wind had blown thetrail of smoke about; there was something dis-pleasing about the placing of the ships.The disproportion there seemed to upset someharmony in her own mind. She felt an obscuredistress. It was confirmed when she turned toher picture. She had been wasting her morning.For whatever reason she could not achieve thatrazor edge of balance between two oppositeforces; Mr. Ramsay and the picture; which wasnecessary?.VW: Circled period. —andyroowelchThere was something perhaps wrongwith the design? Was it, she wondered, that theline of the wall wanted breaking, was it that themass of the trees was too heavy? She smiledironically; for had she not thought, when shebegan, that she had solved her problem?What was the problem then? She must try toget hold of something that evaded her. It evaded298
