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THE LIGHTHOUSEhe could see that it was barred with black and white;he could see windows in it; he could even see wash-ing spread on the rocks to dry. So that was theLighthouse, was it?

No, the other was also the Lighthouse. For noth-ing was simply one thing. The other Lighthouse wastrue too. It was sometimes hardly to be seen acrossthe bay. In the evening one looked up and saw theeye opening and shutting and the light seemed toreach them in that airy sunny garden where theysat.

But he pulled himself up. Whenever he said"they" or "a person," and then began hearing therustle of some one coming, the tinkle of some onegoing, he became extremely sensitive to the presenceof whoever might be in the room. It was his fathernow. The strain was acute. For in one moment ifthere was no breeze, his father would slap the coversof his book together, and say: "What’s happeningnow? What are we dawdling about here for, eh?"as, once before he had brought his blade downamong them on the terrace and she had gone stiff allover, and if there had been an axe handy, a knife,or anything with a sharp point he would have seizedit and struck his father through the heart. She hadgone stiff all over, and then, her arm slackening, sothat he felt she listened to him no longer, she had277