TO THE LIGHTHOUSEand glooms. Oh no. The bedroom door wouldslam violently early in the morning. He wouldstart from the table in a temper. Some letter orbill [%]some articlelettercriticising his books had burst onto hisplate.Then all through the house there wouldbe a sense of doors slamming andblinds flutteringas if a gusty wind were blowing and peoplescudded about trying in a hasty way to fastenhatches and make things shipshape. She had metPaul Rayley like that one day on the stairs.Theyhad laughed and laughed, like a couple of children,all because Mr. Ramsey, finding an earwig in his[%]cup at breakfast had sent the whole thing flyingthrough the air on to the terrace outside. “Anearwig,” Prue murmured, awestruck, looking withround eyes. Other people might find centipedes.But he had built round him such a fence ofsanctity, and occupied the space with such ademeanour of majesty that an earwig in his milk[%]was a monster. Later he met them outside hisstudy door, took them in, and showed them hismap of the Hebrides. It was a wonderful map.He was charming, showing them his map. Theyforgave him instantly, as indeed he expected to beforgiven.

But it tired Mrs. Ramsay, it cowed her a little—the plates whizzing and the doors slamming.And there would fall between them sometimes308
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