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THE WINDOWMrs. Ramsay. A whole French family could liveon what an English cook throws away. Spurredon by her sense that William’s affection had comeback to her, and that everything was all rightagain, and that her suspense was over, and thatnow she was free both to triumph and to mock,she laughed, she gesticulated, till Lily thought,How childlike, how absurd she was, sitting upthere with all her beauty opened again in her,talking about the skins of vegetables. There wassomething frightening about her. She was irre-sistible. Always she got her own way in the end,Lily thought. Now she had brought this off—Paul and Minta, one might suppose, were engaged.Mr. Bankes was dining here. She put a spell onthem all, by wishing, so simply, so directly, andLily contrasted that abundance with her ownpoverty of spirit, and supposed that it was partlythat belief (for her face was all lit up—withoutlooking young, she looked radiant) in this strange,this terrifying thing, which made Paul Rayley,the centre of it, all of a tremor, yet abstract,absorbed, silent. Mrs. Ramsay, Lily felt, as shetalked about the skins of vegetables, exaltedthat, worshipped that; held her hands over it towarm them, to protect it, and yet, having broughtit all about, somehow laughed, led her victims,Lily felt, to the altar. It came over her too now—157