29& Mrs. Ramsay sought their bedrooms, their fastnesses in a housewhere there was no privacy, to debate the misery of the world;to question; to while the sun, pouring into those attics & corners,which a plank of alone separated from each other, as often as not,so that the tramp of the every footstep could be plainlyheard, or the moan of the Swiss gr girl whose father wasdying of cancer sounded night after night, lit up usual litter of bags bats, flannel shirts, straw hats,books&longa peculiarweedishThatsmell inweedsfrilled sea weeds which hung were nailed to the door.little man was a prig: hate had sown its seeds: infinite &the dangercomplexitythe complexity & difficulty & danger of life was nowMrs. Ramsay thought it all so silly.ink pots, paintpots, beetlesthe skulls of smallbirds,which wasin the towelstoo, sandyfrom bathing.sat & sea;while it drewthe
