THE WINDOWgone up on to the bridge of the ship and were takingtheir bearings; the change from poetry to politicsstruck her like that; so Mr. Bankes and CharlesTansley went off, while the others stood looking atMrs. Ramsay going upstairs in the lamplight alone.Where, Lily wondered, was she going so quickly?

Not that she did in fact run or hurry; she wentindeed rather slowly. She felt rather inclined justfor a moment to stand still after all that chatter,and pick out one particular thing; the thing thatmattered; to detach it; separate it off; clean itof all the emotions and odds and ends of things,and so hold it before her, and bring it to the tribunalwhere, ranged about in conclave, sat the judges shehad set up to decide these things. Is it good, is itbad, is it right or wrong? Where are we allgoing to? and so on. So she righted herself afterthe shock of the event, and quite unconsciously andincongruously, used the branches of the elm treesoutside to help her to stabilise her position. Herworld was changing: they were still. The eventhad given her a sense of movement. All must be inorder. She must get that right and that right, shethought, insensibly approving of the dignity of thetrees' stillness, and now again of the superb upwardrise (like the beak of a ship up a wave) of the elmbranches as the wind raised them. For it was windy169
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