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THE WINDOWMrs. Ramsay thought, observing him ratherthan listening to what he said. She could seehow it was from his manner—he wanted to asserthimself, and so it would always be with him tillhe got his Professorship or married his wife, andso need not be always saying, "I—I—I." Forthat was what his criticism of poor Sir Walter,or perhaps it was Jane Austen, amounted to."I—I—I." He was thinking of himself andthe impression he was making, as she couldtell by the sound of his voice, and his emphasisand his uneasiness. Success would be good forhim. At anyrate they were off again. Nowshe need not listen. It could not last sheknew, but at the moment her eyes were so clearthat they seemed to go round the table unveilingeach of these people, and their thoughts and theirfeelings, without effort like a light stealing underwater so that its ripples and the reeds in itand the minnows balancing themselves, and thesudden silent trout are all lit up hanging, trem-bling. So she saw them; she heard them; butwhatever they said had also this quality, as ifwhat they said was like the movement of a troutwhen, at the same time, one can see the rippleand the gravel, something to the right, somethingto the left; and the whole is held together; forwhereas in active life she would be netting and165