Slide to View Image: Opacity 0%
THE WINDOWreason, he said, that the young don’t read Carlyle.A crusty old grumbler who lost his temper if theporridge was cold, why should he preach to us?was what Mr. Bankes understood that youngpeople said nowadays. It was a thousand pitiesif you thought, as he did, that Carlyle was one ofthe great teachers of mankind. Lily was ashamedto say that she had not read Carlyle since she wasat school. But in her opinion one liked Mr.Ramsay all the better for thinking that if hislittle finger ached the whole world must come toan end. It was not that she minded. For whocould be deceived by him? He asked you quiteopenly to flatter him, to admire him, his littledodges deceived nobody. What she disliked washis narrowness, his blindness, she said, lookingafter him."A bit of a hypocrite?" Mr. Bankes sug-gested, looking, too, at Mr. Ramsay’s back, for washe not thinking of his friendship, and of Camrefusing to give him a flower, and of all thoseboys and girls, and his own house, full of comfort,but, since his wife’s death, quiet rather? Ofcourse, he had his work. . . . All the same, herather wished Lily to agree that Ramsay was, ashe said, "a bit of a hypocrite."Lily Briscoe went on putting away her brushes,looking up, looking down. Looking up, there75