TO THE LIGHTHOUSEordinary temptation. Her father was feeling inhis pockets; in another second, he would havefound his book. For no one attracted her more;his hands were beautiful to her and his feet, andhis voice, and his words, and his haste, and histemper, and his oddity, and his passion, and hissaying straight out before every one, we perish,each alone, and his remoteness. (He had openedhis book.) But what remained intolerable, shethought, sitting upright, and watching Macalister’sboy tug the hook out of the gills of another fish,was that crass blindness and tyranny of his whichhad poisoned her childhood and raised bitterstorms, so that even now she woke in the nighttrembling with rage and remembered somecommand of his; some insolence: "Do this”,‘Do that ”; his dominance: his “ Submit to me ’

So she said nothing, but looked doggedly andsadly at the shore, wrapped in its mantle of peace;as if the people there had fallen asleep, shethought; were free like smoke, were free to comeand go like ghosts. They have no suffering there,she thought.

Yes, that is their boat, Lily Briscoe decided,standing on the edge of the lawn. It was the boatwith greyish-brown sails, which she saw now262