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THE WINDOW

"But how long do they leave men on a Light-house?" she asked. He told her. He wasamazingly well informed. And as he was grateful,and as he liked her, and as he was beginning toenjoy himself, so now, Mrs. Ramsay thought, shecould return to that dream land, that unreal butfascinating place, the Mannings’ drawing-room atMarlow twenty years ago; where one movedabout without haste or anxiety, for there wasno future to worry about. She knew what hadhappened to them, what to her. It was likereading a good book again, for she knew the endof that story, since it had happened twenty yearsago, and life, which shot down even from thisdining-room table in cascades, heaven knowswhere, was sealed up there, and lay, like a lake,placidly between its banks. He said they hadbuilt a billiard room—was it possible? WouldWilliam go on talking about the Mannings? Shewanted him to. But no—for some reason he wasno longer in the mood. She tried. He did notrespond. She could not force him. She wasdisappointed.

"The children are disgraceful," she said,sighing. He said something about punctualitybeing one of the minor virtues which we do notacquire until later in life.

"If at all," said Mrs. Ramsay merely to fill upK145