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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthe great scroll of smoke still hung in the air anddrooped like a flag mournfully in valediction.)X

It was like that then, the island, thought Cam,once more drawing her fingers through the waves.She had never seen it from out at sea before. It laylike that on the sea, did it, with a dent in the middleand two sharp crags, and the sea swept in there,and spread away for miles and miles on either sideof the island. It was very small; shaped somethinglike a leaf stood on end. So we took a little boat, shethought, beginning to tell herself a story of adven-ture about escaping from a sinking ship. But withthe sea streaming through her fingers, a spray ofseaweed vanishing behind them, she did not wantto tell herself seriously a story; it was the sense ofadventure and escape that she wanted, for she wasthinking, as the boat sailed on, how her father’sanger about the points of the compass, James’s ob-stinacy about the compact, and her own anguish, allhad slipped, all had passed, all had streamed away.What then came next? Where were they going?From her hand, ice cold, held deep in the sea, therespurted up a fountain of joy at the change, at theescape, at the adventure (that she should be alive,280