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THE LIGHTHOUSE 191of dead people, which they hated, so that theylagged after him, and all the pleasure of the day wasspoilt.

Yes, the breeze was freshening. The boat wasleaning, the water was sliced sharply and fell awayin green cascades, in bubbles, in cataracts. Camlooked down into the foam, into the sea with all itstreasure in it, and its speed hypnotized her, andthe tie between her and James sagged a little. Itslackened a little. She began to think, How fast itgoes. Where are we going? and the movementhypnotized her, while James, with his eye fixed onthe sail and on the horizon, steered grimly. But hebegan to think as he steered that he might escape;he might be quit of it all. They might land some-where; and be free then. Both of them, looking ateach other for a moment, had a sense of escape andexaltation, what with the speed and the change. Butthe breeze bred in Mr Ramsay too the same excite-ment, and, as old Macalister turned to fling his lineoverboard, he cried aloud: ‘We perished,’ and thenagain, ‘each alone.’ And then with his usual spasmof repentance or shyness, pulled himself up, andwaved his hand towards the shore.

'See the little house,’ he said pointing, wishingCam to look. She raised herself reluctantly andlooked. But which was it? She could no longermake out, there on the hillside, which was their house.All looked distant and peaceful and strange. Theshore seemed refined, far away, unreal. Alreadythe little distance they had sailed had put them farfrom it and given it the changed look, the composedlook, of something receding in which one has no