57[?]Here he was ?coldly predicting rain; next, charging at the head of an&army, receiving into his body a dozen spears, & wounds of which hea phantomdied gloriously on the heights of Bla Balaclava. Did oneaccount fo theextreme give rise to an other - & was his did he balance hisdidbalancing & this his present indulgence in the simplest of schoolboyemotions by a majesterial severity at table --? where no one wasquicker than he to pluck the stigmatise the folly, of man & the& riddle sentiment with ridicule? And then this hisXHe was the fiThen there was this passion for views. He liked them to be wild &?fatherbare; he liked to wave his hand at some barren moor or waste of water;&he would sit on the point of a rock jutting out into the Atlantic && gaze at thegaze at the water. No & gaze at the flood. How easy, thesetheNothing could be easier, than to exalt him almost above humanstature; & as Charles Tansley did, & others of his sort; but how thenas if anclaimingkinship,then, being theaccount for the the imita but watching the spare scholars?he ?wasfigure crouched there, with shabby & wild & uncouth, yetexquisitely finished too, ethereal, to exalt him above humanstature & feel as Charles Tansley did, that here was thephilosopher whose search for truth had led him, alone,through the desert, & identify him with truth & purity; & otherhigh & exalted qualities, to feel that but no sooner had yousettled into the saddle of that belief - & women could thenhe threw you.People said, in short, that he lovedXBut Mr. Ramsay had They might gaze & speculate; Mr. Ramsaywas charging at the head of the Light Brigade & ?aswas ?immense. He was exalted. He was in fact ?crying &vociferously, freely, like a sh schoolboy after a ?heat, ?one
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