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236 TO THE LIGHTHOUSEin the rocks. One could see the windows clearly; adab of white on one of them, and a little tuft of greenon the rock. A man had come out and looked atthem through a glass and gone in again. So it waslike that, James thought, the Lighthouse one hadseen across the bay all these years; it was a starktower on a bare rock. It satisfied him. It con-firmed some obscure feeling of his about his owncharacter. The old ladies, he thought, thinking ofthe garden at home, went dragging their chairs abouton the lawn. Old Mrs Beckwith, for example, wasalways saying how nice it was and how sweet it wasand how they ought to be so proud and they oughtto be so happy, but as a matter of fact James thought,looking at the Lighthouse stood there on its rock,it’s like that. He looked at his father readingfiercely with his legs curled tight. They shared thatknowledge. ‘We are driving before a gale—we mustsink,’ he began saying to himself, half aloud exactlyas his father said it.

Nobody seemed to have spoken for an age. Camwas tired of looking at the sea. Little bits of blackcork had floated past; the fish were dead in thebottom of the boat. Still her father read, and Jameslooked at him and she looked at him, and they vowedthat they would fight tyranny to the death, and hewent on reading quite unconscious of what theythought. It was thus that he escaped, she thought.Yes, with his great forehead and his great nose,holding his little mottled book firmly in front ofhim, he escaped. You might try to lay hands onhim, but then like a bird, he spread his wings, hefloated off to settle out of your reach somewhere far