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THE LIGHTHOUSEculous hip, the lightkeeper’s son. He sighedprofoundly. He sighed significantly. All Lilywished was that this enormous flood of grief,this insatiable hunger for sympathy, this demandthat she should surrender herself up to himentirely, and even so he had sorrows enough tokeep her supplied for ever, should leave her,should be diverted (she kept looking at the house,hoping for an interruption) before it swept herdown in its flow.

"Such expeditions," said Mr. Ramsay, scrap-ing the ground with his toe, “are very painful."Still Lily said nothing. (She is a stock, she is astone, he said to himself.) “They are veryexhausting," he said, looking, with a sickly lookthat nauseated her (he was acting, she felt, thisgreat man was dramatising himself), at hisbeautiful hands. It was horrible, it was indecent.Would they never come, she asked, for shecould not sustain this enormous weight ofsorrow, support these heavy draperies of grief(he had assumed a pose of extreme decrepitude;he even tottered a little as he stood there) amoment longer.

Still she could say nothing; the whole horizonseemed swept bare of objects to talk about; couldonly feel, amazedly, as Mr. Ramsay stood there,how his gaze seemed to fall dolefully over the235